


The Murderess || Finnick Odair

by sprintingfox



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 73rd Hunger Games, 74th Hunger Games, 75th Hunger Games, Action/Adventure, Angst, District 7, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Prostitution, Romance, Sprinting Fox, SprintingFox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 184,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprintingfox/pseuds/sprintingfox
Summary: District Seven holds records for having some of the bloodthirstiest victors in the whole Capitol, from Johanna Mason up to the legendary Placidus Odinshoot who set the record for shortest Games with most kills by a single tribute. The record stood for 63 years until a new tribute came forth in the 73rd Hunger Games.
Relationships: Finnick Odair/Morgan Reeves, Finnick Odair/Original Character(s), Finnick Odair/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 103
Kudos: 190





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> …. with Rachel Cook as Morgan Reeves
> 
> I apologize for any typos! I didn't edit it before uploading everything to all the platforms I have it on so please try and read through them, thanks!
> 
> All credit for original characters and original plot goes to Suzanne Collins. I own only my OCs and select scenes not from the original series. Thank you Suzanne, for writing the series. Thank you all, for reading.

**Morgan Reeves's POV**

_73rd Hunger Games_

"So, today's the day."

As if I don't already know.

I tiredly look over at Misha and offer him a very small tight lipped smile.

To him it's just another day. He has nothing to worry about.

I do.

"Yeah, I suppose so," I say simply, trying not to show just how uneasy his comment has made me. "But it shouldn't be too bad. I'm seventeen. If I haven't gotten reaped by now I probably never will."

He takes this into consideration. "Hmm, yes. But then you'll work at the mills for the rest of your life after you turn nineteen."

"I'm okay with that as long as I have my siblings," I say. "I've already been working at the mills for a long, long time. It won't be any different to do it after it. It doesn't matter to me. I'll get to work overtime more and make more money."

"That's true," he admits. He looks out into the trees, his eyes scanning over every leaf that meets his eye. Without looking at me, he lifts his hand and places it over mine.

I tense immediately.

Affection. It's unwanted on my part. We agreed that we wouldn't. Or at least I made sure to tell him I wasn't a fan of it anymore.

He's being affectionate. He must be sensing something— feeling something.

I deduce it all comes down to worry. Stress. I am seventeen.

I can still get reaped.

I suppose he really does have something to worry about.

"Don't stress out over it," I murmur, allowing his hand to remain. Why stress him out more by resisting? He might as well have it as comfort. "I'm not going to get reaped."

"Good." He leans over, attaching his lips to my neck.

More affection. More feeling. More worry, more stress.

He knows I don't prefer it but he must have decided that if I'm not resisting, it's alright for the time being.

Friends with benefits. That's all we are. Close friends who have benefits with each other very often. Or at least, we used to have benefits with each other very often.

We never dated. We just jumped right into it.

We met last summer. I'd just turned sixteen and I was transferred to a new mill. There I'd met Misha, who at the time was twenty, and Daphne, who was twenty five.

We all quickly became friends. It wasn't strange to us at all, not like it might be with other people who have such an age gap. You see, in my District, our mills are mixed with people of so many different ages you hardly make friends with people that aren't older or younger than you.

I was used to it by now. I'd been working in the mills with the adults after I left school when I was fifteen. My parents had just been killed in an accident. My brother and I had to assume their roles as the breadwinners.

That's that.

Misha and I had eventually hit it off and things happened, though it's been secret for now. It's not exactly allowed for two people from the same mill to be in a relationship.

We've managed to keep it hidden.

"You okay?"

I get snapped out of my thoughts and look at Misha, who's scooted closer to me. We sit on a massive branch about fifty feet above ground, hidden inside one of the larger pine trees inside this boxed area of particular lumber. It's comfortable, and to us, not scary. We work these trees almost every day. This is our designated boxed area. The trees here are like home.

Probably because they provide for us to actually have a roof over our heads.

"I'm okay," I reply. "Really, I am."

"You don't look okay."

"I suppose I'm jealous of you," I admit at last. There's no use hiding it from him. "You don't have to worry as much. You're already twenty one, and you have no younger siblings—"

"Ah. This is about Gretchen."

"I don't want her to be picked. I really don't. She's already got her leg in a brace and she's never stopped having nightmares since our parents died. I worry."

"She's thirteen. She's just started and she's only putting her name in the required number of times, right? She'll be fine. And I know if she got picked, either you or anyone else would volunteer. Everyone loves Gretchen and realistically, they pity her for being injured. So don't worry."

I nod, and lean on him. I'm reciprocating affection.

I suppose I do feel too.

He smells like mint.

When twelve o'clock hits, we know from the loud banging of the clock at the main mill, that tolls loudly so everyone out in the boxed areas can hear even from miles away.

Misha and I climb down from the tree and go our separate ways.

But not before we hug one last time.

I walk along the long rows of trees and finally into the neighborhood I grew up in, where those with the bigger families live.

Funnily enough our houses are poorer quality.

The road is unpaved. Rocks stick firmly in the soles of my boots and skip up from the ground to tap against my bare ankles. Dogs bark around me and I hear the sounds of urgent whispers and small children crying.

Today is definitely Reaping Day.

Inside the cheap wood barn that I have called home for the past seventeen years, Daphne is already there preparing what I'll wear. She knows I can't put together a proper outfit to save my life.

Even though I consider her my best friend, I know she considers me and all my siblings as her adopted children.

"You _must_ wear this one," she says, holding up a forest green dress the instant I walk through the door. "It goes best with your eyes."

"It's because we work in pines, isn't it?" I say, mostly unamused. "Besides, my eyes are blue."

"Don't argue with me, Morgan," she scolds.

"I don't get why we bother to dress up," I reply, though I nod at her and slip into a small shed we have inside my room that serves as a shower, and begin to wash my body. "They want us looking nice just to watch someone die."

"No one is dying today, Morgan," Daphne says. "No one."

"Of course not, it's only the Reaping. People will die in a few days."

"Oh shut up and wash yourself. You smell like pine and mint."

"Blame Misha."

"You were with Misha again?"

"Obviously."

From behind the door, I hear her laugh.

After I wash my body, I put on the dress, which is probably the nicest one I own. No wonder Daphne chose it. It goes just above my knees and off my shoulders, which my mother might've said was scandalous.

Daphne puts my hair in two little buns like she does on days when we go trim trees during the winter. She claims it's the best hairstyle on me.

I don't object. It's not like I can fix my hair any better.

As Daphne is finishing up with me, we hear the distinct sound of my sister making her way to my room.

Gretchen hobbles in, and Daphne and I both help her put on a nice pink dress we made for her about three months ago, which was her birthday present.

"Daphne," Gretchen says in her timid, strained voice. "Can you do my hair like you did Morgan's?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Daphne says. I adjust Gretchen's brace beneath her dress as Daphne does her hair, making sure it doesn't get caught in the small petticoat we sewed under the skirt.

About three years ago Gretchen fell off a tree at school, and her leg has never been the same. We don't have money to send her to the Capitol and get her the surgery she needs to fix it, so a brace is the best the doctor here could do. Gretchen will never be able to work in the mills, and I suspect Devan and I will always have to keep her with us in order to provide for her. She needs around the clock pain medication for the damage left behind and a constant readjustment of her brace when she showers or uses the bathroom. I have to carry her to and from school every day in order for her to arrive on time.

It's not easy work.

I don't mind though. Gretchen is smart. She can do numbers better than anyone. If she keeps at it, she'll be able to be assistant manager for the mills without needing to step foot in there and will make a decent money just running numbers all day. I know she'd like that, and it would take her mind off the pain better than any medicine ever could.

"Are we ready?"

Devan has clearly just come back from his late shift at the mill where they make furniture. He's covered in sawdust and his face has the outline of where his protective goggles were around his eyes.

As the man, he gets the option to either work on the main trees in boxed areas or go into processing. He's more of a handyman, and can make more money fixing furniture with his skill than chopping branches all day the way I do.

"You're not leaving here looking like that," Daphne scolds, brushing sawdust off his face before handing him the outfit she has prepared for him and then pushing him into the shed for his shower. Devan doesn't object.

At one o'clock, we had for the square. Attendance is mandatory unless you are on death's door, so we have to carry Gretchen to make it on time. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if this is the case, for those who don't attend. If not, you'll be imprisoned.

They hold the reaping in the square where our markets are set up. All around it are shops, and little booths where you can buy the few bits of fruit that we have in our District. If there's good weather, this particular square becomes a place where we hold dances at the end of every season to welcome the coming of snow or new life, in spring's case.

But today, despite the bright banners hanging on the buildings, there's an air of grimness. The camera crews, perched like buzzards on rooftops only add to the effect.

They're probably making bets on who'll get reaped.

People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well, so they make sure to keep the age range bit enough.

Twelve through eighteen-year-olds, including Gretchen and I, are herded into roped areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front, the young ones in the back. I am in the second line from the front, and Gretchen is in the second line from the back, which leaves us quite a bit apart.

Family members line up around the perimeter, holding tightly to one another's hands. But there are others, too, who have no one they love at stake, or who no longer care, who slip among the crowd, taking bets on the two kids whose names will be drawn. I know they picked this up from the times when they watch the reapings of the other Districts, because they didn't use to do it. I believe they saw it happen in Twelve and imitated it. It's sick, and I mean it in the most awful way possible.

I can see Misha, Daphne, and Devan are all near the front, watching anxiously. Despite Devan knowing that Misha and I have been so intimately together, the two have become very close friends. Daphne of course is still the mother of our group.

Misha looks very worried now, as if it's just dawned on him that I could get picked this year, or even next. What with us trying to get Gretchen her surgery, I secretly threw my name in about sixty times to sell the grain they give me for compensation and hold the money. Only Misha knows I did that, and I don't think he really thought about it earlier in the tree.

We were too busy being affectionate.

The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. The square is quite large, but not enough to hold our population. Latecomers are directed to the adjacent streets, where they can watch the event on screens as it's televised live by the state.

My fellow seventeen year olds and I exchange a few nods. Most I recognize from when I was still in school, but some I don't think I ever met. It doesn't matter. I'm not friends with any of them. They don't remember me for any reason. I was nothing special. The only subjects I was fairly good in were science and math, but even then I was never top of the class.

On the temporary stage set up before the Justice Building, five chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls, one for boys and one for girls, are set up. One of the chairs is occupied by Mayor Allardyce, a tall and thin man who has a saddened look in his eyes. I know why. His son's just turned twelve, and he's now eligible to be reaped.

Beside him sits Rupalia Spectral, who's our District's escort. She's thankfully not the most abnormal Capitolian. She has a peppy attitude but that's about as extravagant as she gets. She enjoys simplicity, and wears a solid colored blue suit, her silver hair styled in a simple bun. Her face of course is littered with makeup but it doesn't look bad.

The three chairs to her left are filled by the three victors we have. There's Johanna Mason, who won two years ago, Blight Vindict who won the 56th Hunger Games, and Raff Lascius, who won the first Quarter Quell. We had another Victor last year— Placidus Odinshoot— who I think won the 10th Hunger Games. He unfortunately passed away about seven months ago.

Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. His voice is shaky.

It's the same story every year. He tells the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called in North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens.

Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch— this is the Capitol's way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy. How little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion.

Whatever words they use, the real message is clear. " _Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen_."

To make it humiliating as well as torturous, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a sporting event pitting every district against the others. The last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food. All year, the Capitol will show the winning district gifts of grain and oil and even delicacies like sugar while the rest of us battle starvation.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor. But I know he doesn't feel that way, not with his son's single slip of paper bearing his name now in the glass ball.

He presents the past victors, and Johanna, Blight, and Raff stand and wave.

Killers. Admirable, but killers nevertheless.

Mayor Allardyce then hands the microphone to Rupalia, who now finally puts on her bubbly attitude for the cameras.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She says happily, though I know she hardly means it. "This 73rd year is going to be exciting, I just know it!"

At least she doesn't copy District Twelve's Effie Trinket who says year after year " _and may the odds be ever in your favor_." It's strange since I'm positive Effie and Rupalia are best friends. I always see them sitting beside each other at every Games.

Rupalia goes on for a bit about what an honor it is for us to be here, and how one of us might get to join Johanna, Blight, and Raff at being victors and living in the gorgeous Victor's Village. Judging by Johanna's expressions, she doesn't think it's all that great, and I choose to believe she's got her head screwed on straight.

"Now, it's time to pick our tributes!" Rupalia says, striding gracefully to the boy's glass ball. She always does the boys first, as she knows the girls will be more emotional. I guess that's her way of making up for the fact that she's not as extravagant as the other escorts.

She emphasizes pain in a different way.

She reaches in, her eyes closed, and digs her hand deep into the ball. When she's satisfied, she pulls out a slip of paper.

The crowd draws a collective breath of agony. _Please, don't let it be my child_. I know that's exactly what they're all thinking.

Rupalia doesn't open the slip until she reaches the microphone, and then she clears her throat.

But there's a hesitation. We all notice it. She gulps.

"The male tribute for District Seven is... Griffin Allardyce."

No. That can't be possible.

Mayor Allardyce's eyes water as his timid, frail son walks up from the very back, where the twelve year olds are, his eyes wide as saucers. I can see in the crowd that mouths have dropped open in shock. This has never happened in any of the districts. What with so many kids putting their names in, a Mayor's child has never ever been reaped.

There is a loud sob and I know Mayor Allardyce's wife is the one crying. The small boy goes up on the stage, his hands gripping his pants like he's stopping himself from running away.

"Griffin Allardyce," Rupalia says. I can see even she didn't want this for the poor little boy. She's one of the few Capitolians that actually grows sad at the idea of her tributes going in year after year. "Any volunteers?"

No one says anything. No one. Griffin has no older brothers or cousins. His friends are all twelve. The older boys are not about to give themselves up for a boy they don't know.

"Very well, then," Rupalia says. She clears her throat. "Let's give a big round of applause for our male tribute!"

No one claps.

Rupalia swallows hard. "And now, the girls."

She strides, though not as gracefully this time, to the glass ball with the girls' names. I have my fingers crossed.

Don't let it be Gretchen. Please.

Rupalia holds the slip of paper she drew and walks back to the microphone. She opens it, and she doesn't react. She must not know the person there.

"The female tribute for District Seven is... Morgan Reeves."

In that moment I feel every part of my body tense. The people around me who do recognize me look at me.

"NO!" I hear Daphne cry. As a Peacekeeper yanks me out and toward the stage, I look back and see Daphne's collapsed in Misha's arms, and Devan's lunged forward to stop Gretchen from limping to me.

"MORGAN!" Gretchen screams, and I know it's the loudest sound she's ever made. "MORGAN!"

I'm numb. Their screaming becomes just buzzing in my ears as I'm pushed onto the stage by the Peacekeepers who have surrounded me.

"Morgan Reeves," Rupalia says, her eyes watering. "Any volunteers?"

But I know no one will raise their hands. Even selfless Gretchen wouldn't be silly enough to. I can see everyone looking at me and Griffin, who stands beside me, with pity.

"Alright then," Rupalia says. "Then, let us give a round of applause for our female tribute!"

Once again, not a single person claps.

Mayor Allardyce is handed the microphone, and with a very strained voice he reads the long, dull Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point, since it's required. But I know Griffin and I aren't hearing a single word he's saying.

The moment the anthem ends, we are taken into custody. I don't mean we're handcuffed or anything, but a group of Peacekeepers marches us through the front door of the Justice Building. Maybe tributes have tried to escape in the past.

Once inside, I'm conducted to a room and left alone. I feel queasy. It's the richest place I've ever been in, with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs. I can't help but run my fingers over the fabric repeatedly as I sit on the couch. I know it'll be the only thing that can really calm me down enough and prepare me for the next hour. The time alloted for the tributes to say good bye to their loved ones.

I will not allow myself to cry. It's not an option. I can't leave Gretchen more distraught than she already is. She's never seen me cry and I'm not about to let her. Plus, I know cameras will be waiting once I exit.

The door opens, and I'm expecting to see Devan and Gretchen, but it's Johanna Mason.

"You have to cry," she says immediately. "You have to."

"What?" I say, taken aback. Is she supposed to be talking to me right now?

"I have a plan for you, Reeves," she says, and I see in her face she means it. "I see potential. So cry. I need you to for this to work. I'll explain later."

I nod as she leaves just as quickly as she came in.

I swallow hard. I don't want to cry.

But when the door opens again and Gretchen stumbles in, I burst into tears. No point in holding it back if Johanna says I should.

"Morgan," Devan says, carrying Gretchen closer to me. He wraps his arms around the both of us, and I cry in his shoulder.

"Y-You're— You're gonna b-be fine," Gretchen sobs. "Y-You're n-nice. They won't k-kill you. A-And if they try... you kick them!"

I cough, and Devan rubs my back. "Come on, Morgan," he says. "You know yourself. You're stronger than most of them. You could kick their asses."

"I c-can't," I choke. "I c-can't just kill a human being."

"If you have to, you have to. I don't give a damn about any other tribute except maybe little Griffin. I want my sister back. You _will_ come back. We already lost mom and dad and—"

Gretchen lets out a strangled sob, and I glare at Devan, though it doesn't last long because he's crying too, and I don't feel like being mad at him.

I'm not even allowed more time with them. When their minutes are up, the Peacekeepers drag them out.

I'm only alone for about a minute before Daphne comes in, and gasping for air, she hugs me.

"Oh my baby girl..."

I cry in her shoulder and she pats my back, which really only makes me cry more.

The next visitor surprises me.

I haven't talked to her in awhile. Mrs. Vangsenn is the mother of my ex-boyfriend Brannock, who I dated when I was fourteen. We'd been together for a whole year, even left school together and entered the mills together, but then he'd been in an accident in the mill and was killed, which was the main reason I was transported to work with Misha and Daphne once I turned sixteen. It took awhile for me to get over him, and when I did, Misha was there to comfort me.

"Mrs. Vangsenn," I say softly as she walks up to me.

"Morgan," she says just as softly, bringing me into her chest and shuddering as she kisses the top of my head. "I'm so sorry..."

I nod. What else can I even say?

When she leaves, Misha is let in. He looks completely devastated.

"Morgan." He rushes forward and takes my face in his hands, kissing me.

"Misha," I mumble. "Don't— please—"

Affection. Affection again. It's not the time for that.

But he's too focused on kissing me to listen. I eventually have to push him off because as good as it feels, it'll only make me miss him more.

"Please don't," I say, swallowing back tears.

He takes my hands, and kisses them instead. "You— you're strong, okay? You can do it."

"I-I can try," I manage.

He nods. But by then all the kissing has taken up his time. The Peacekeeper enters.

"Time's up."

"No!" Misha yells suddenly, whirling around to face him. "I need more time!"

"Misha, stop!" I cry, my eyes wide.

Affection. Feelings. Bad feelings. Anger, stress, worry.

It all comes out eventually.

"Stop it, Misha!" I scream again.

But he doesn't. He begins shouting obscenities at the Peacekeeper, and yelling " _Fuck the Capitol_!" over and over.

That's when his fist collides with the Peacekeeper's helmet.

"MISHA!" I scream, my body being yanked back by another Peacekeeper as they punch him, then drag them out. I am then faced with another Peacekeeper who drags me roughly to the train station, which isn't far from the Justice Building.

My throat is raw from screaming as I get shoved onto the platform.

I don't know where they took Misha. I need to know where Misha is.

The station is swarming with reporters, their insectlike cameras trained directly on my face. I know I must look like an awful, emotional mess.

Misha is the only one on my mind and it makes me feel too much.

All the affection, all the worry, all the stress, all the anger.

Too much.

Johanna stands by the door of the train, looking pleased.

I want to punch her face so hard it sinks into her skull.

How can she be smiling? How can she be smiling when the man I love has been dragged away by Peacekeepers? How can she be smiling when I've just been reaped for the stupid Hunger Games?

I don't punch her. She simply nods at me as Griffin, who has suddenly appeared beside me, and I are turned harshly by the Peacekeepers to stand for a few minutes in the doorway of the train.

When the cameras finish gobbling up our images, we're allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us.

The train begins to move at once.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm surprised I don't fall.

The speed initially takes my breath away. Fast, faster than any vehicle I have ever been on. Of course, I have never been on a train. Travel between the districts is forbidden except for officially sanctioned duties.

I remember my father used to take trips on the train all the time. He was the leader of his furniture mill. He delivered the finest mahogany items right to the Capitol. He used to tell Devan he'd take him one day, as part of a father-son trip.

He never got the chance.

This high speed Capitol model averages 250 miles per hour. Our journey to the Capitol will be short— we should be arriving in a matter of hours. District Seven, contrary to popular belief, is quite close to the Capitol. It lies between District One and District Three. Our train will pass through One, then Three, partly into Two, then right into Capitol City.

The tribute train is even fancier than the room I was thrown into inside the Justice Building. Griffin and I are each immediately given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. We don't have hot water at home, ever, since stoves are a hazard and don't go up high enough to heat it. I guess having so much wood around makes people paranoid.

I don't remember ever showering with hot water in my entire life.

I enter the room and immediately feel disgusted.

It's absolutely beautiful. And because of that, I find it ugly.

I'm being comforted on the road toward certain death.

There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Rupalia tells me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, because everything is at my disposal. I just have to be ready for supper in an hour.

Rupalia looks sad as she leaves me to talk to Griffin. Is it possible she feels as angry as Misha? Or is she just sad?

Feelings. Too many of them.

I hate them. I really hate being vulnerable and revealing what emotion is currently coursing through every inch of my body. It makes me feel weak.

But apparently Johanna likes the weakness.

My face feels weird from all the crying, so I immediately hop into the shower.

Time to wash away the weakness.

I'm worried about Misha. Why— why would he challenge a Peacekeeper?

Misha has never been one to challenge them. He always stays in line, talks against them privately. He knows better than to do something so rash, so stupid.

It'd be admirable if it wasn't deadly.

Where will they have taken him? Will he be put on a whipping post and lashed until he's unable to move? Will he be put into one of the torture chambers to lose a limb? Will he be executed?

I don't know and it's killing me.

I don't know how long I stand in the shower, using up the entire bar of soap because I haven't been properly cleaned like this in years back when I was small enough to use the large bucket my mother bathed us in. All I do is rub it on my skin over and over again, watching small spuds fall off, and seeing dirt flow down my skin and pool briefly around the drain before flowing down.

I've just finished changing when Rupalia comes to collect me for supper. I follow her through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable.

I feel like grabbing each one individually and throwing it against the wall to smash it into a million pieces.

For Misha. For all the other kids who have been reaped.

They look so luxurious I feel repulsed. They deserve to be broken.

Even though they're just plates.

Griffin sits between Blight and Raff, who seem to be muttering words of encouragement. Griffin is shaking like he's not internalizing anything they're saying.

I wouldn't be either.

I sit beside Johanna and she smiles at me.

It's almost creepy.

"Very, very good," she says. "Emotional. It'll be perfect."

"Why?" I say, my voice still hoarse. It sounds like I haven't spoken in years.

"You'll see. Let's eat first."

The supper comes in courses. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops, and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Rupalia reminds us that more food is to come so we shouldn't fill ourselves too much.

I've never had such good food. I begin stuffing myself, but Johanna stops me.

"No," she says. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I blink. "Wouldn't it be good for me to put on a few pounds?"

"Not for you," Johanna says. "Griffin can. But not you."

"Why?" I say, frowning. If I'm going to die I should get to enjoy the food.

"You need to seem weak. Griffin, no offense, you look it because you're already very frail, so a few pounds won't hurt. But I want you both looking vulnerable."

This time it's Griffin who makes the inquiries. "What for?" He says in a small voice, so shaky I know he wants to cry. "I'm gonna die and not even meet my baby sister even if I look strong. I should just die right away."

"Griffin, don't say that," I hiss. I don't know this kid but I feel protective of him.

I want to protect him from the people of the Capitol.

"Clearly you two are a little nosy about my plans," Johanna says, sounding annoyed. "Fine. Blight, the plan."

Raff gets up. "I'll be in my compartment."

He leaves and Blight moves closer to Johanna.

"Why did he go?" I ask.

"Because he's not assigned to train you this time around. He's actually only coming to drop you off then heading back," Johanna says. "Blight and I made a plan for you."

"Fine," I say. "Make it quick. And it better be good."

Johanna narrows her eyes at me. "It will be good. I like your fire, Reeves. But contain it. Blight, go ahead."

Blight clears his throat. "Weakness. It's more essential than you think. I had Johanna use it her year and it worked. We decided we want the same approach for the two of you, though different. Johanna is in charge of Morgan, and I will be with you, Griffin."

Johanna takes a glass of water and chugs it before explaining to me. "Morgan. You're attractive, and you look strong, but you're also skinny. It's perfect to make it seem like the strength is a facade. You crying makes you seem emotional. I want you to play lovesick."

"Lovesick?" I say, my mind jumping to Misha.

"Yes. Now I don't care if you have a boyfriend, you will never reveal that. Capiche?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," I mutter. Misha isn't my boyfriend. I care a lot about him. But he is not my boyfriend.

"Even better. Now, tell me first of all what you're good at."

"I can climb trees really well," I say, furrowing my eyebrows. "I'm good with an axe, but I've never thrown one the way you do. Um... I'm a really fast runner, they usually make me deliver urgent messages between mills."

"Good," Johanna says. "To climb trees and wield an axe you must be pretty strong."

"I am pretty strong," I reply, feeling a bit more inclined to follow her plan. Somehow I know she truly does mean well. "I carry my sister to and from school every day. She's small at only one hundred pounds but her brace is very heavy, leaving her at about one-ten. I'm one thirty."

"Perfect," Johanna notes. "Now, I will teach you privately to throw axes and knives, but in training, you are never to show skill in those stations. Go to each one and make a fool of yourself— be absolutely pathetic. Then, you stay in the snares station or recognizing plants— something soft, seeming useless. You need to seem afraid of even trying anything else again since you were so bad at it and it was so hard. In your individual assessment, you'll grab a spear and throw it badly. It'll work well since you won't have practiced using one before that. Then maybe make a snare and show you're only good at small things. With luck you'll score below a four. Capiche?"

I nod slowly. It seemed like a foolproof plan. Who would ever guess that a skinny girl from Seven who sucks at every weapon would be good?

"Lastly," she continues, "I want you to pick a tribute, preferably one your age so it's not weird, and follow them around like a lost puppy. Better to choose the most attractive one there. You will be obsessive over whoever you choose, okay? And desperate to get them to notice you."

I nod again. It's a lot to take in, but I get the general gist.

Lovesick. Childlike. Weak-minded. Weak in general.

A loser. Bound to die on their own.

"Then when you get to the arena you will run to the Cornucopia. With luck you'll be the fastest there— I know they don't pick just anyone to be a mill runner so I think you might make it there first. Grab knives and axes and throw. You make sure you kill a few there to get the majority of tributes away from you. Then you and Griffin can meet somewhere in the arena and ally— as I assume you will."

I look at Griffin and nod, but he shakes his head.

"I'll slow you down," he says earnestly. "You'll always have to protect me."

He has no hope for himself.

"Don't be silly, Griffin," I say. "I want to ally with you."

He blushes a bit, like he's surprised I think so highly of him.

"Now you, Griffin," Blight says, nodding at my comment as if he appreciated it. "You're already very young; I doubt anyone else is twelve in the mix. You will go from station to station trying to learn, but if you find you are good at something, tell me so I can train you for it privately. I want you to make it seem like you're afraid and desperate to get a skill, but then have it so nothing is clicking for you, as if you're not drawn to any particular weapon. When you discover that one thing you're good at, stay at that station a lot and do an awful job of it. Make it seem like you want that skill and simply can't have it. When the time comes you will rely on Morgan to get you your weapon, though if she fails, you do it on your own. I want it to look first of all like you're trying to make up for the fact that she's a complete dud, so that's why you put more effort in training. With luck the Careers will steer clear of you both and you'll be able to be secretly shaped into good warriors."

Griffin nods, and for a second he looks hopeful it can work.

I am hopeful too. It's not a bad plan. Two complete duds from a non-Career District makes complete sense.

"Understand?" Johanna asks. "Good. Now let's watch the other reapings and meet your competition."

She leads us to the lounge, where another luxurious layout meets our eyes. Couches that are probably worth five mahogany tables, with velvet on them. Actual mahogany tables between them for drinks. Lamps that are styled like lampposts straight from the Capitol.

I wish I could burn every piece of it.

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be our competition. Only a few stand out to me.

There's the brother and sister from District One. They're twins, apparently. The sister is called and then the brother volunteers for the next boy. They look excited, as if this is the exact moment they have been waiting for.

Of course. District One. Careers.

There's a bitchy looking girl from Two who is called up and yells out that she doesn't want anyone volunteering for her. No one does. Next, a tall buff boy who looks like he could snap me in half, literally.

There's an attractive boy in District Four who looks to be eighteen. Johanna nudges me and I mark him down mentally. Benjamin O'Hara. His fellow partner seems thrilled at being alongside him.

I'm not surprised that the only ones who interested me were the Careers.

We watch our own reaping. There's the gasp when Griffin is reaped and the amplified screams of Gretchen and Daphne as I'm called.

When the program ends, I see that we are already within the vicinity of the Capitol.

"Let's get ready," Rupalia says, peering out the window. She turns to us and nods. She seems to like the simple silver dress I picked, and the suit Griffin put on.

"Very good, properly dapper!" She says enthusiastically. "Now, come on!"

As soon as the train stops, the doors fly open and we're bombarded with the noise of cameras snapping pictures and reporters bellowing.

The walk through the sea of them is absolutely awful.

All I feel is worry. Stress. Worry about Misha, who I can't stop thinking about. Can he see me getting off the train through a camera? Or is he somewhere without a television for punishment?

Reporters are yelling questions at me again, and Johanna pinches me as a signal to smile and wave while I walk through them. But I am not happy. I am not answering anything.

I feel nothing for them.

In front of me, Griffin is beside Blight, waving very timidly. By now, Raff's gone back to our District. He'll watch us from Victor's Village, alone.

When we are escorted into the building, several very Capitolian dressed people drag me into what I can assume is a prep room.

It reminds me of the hospital in Seven. Glowing white everything with silver utensils all over and a simple table for me to be 'fixed.'

A woman with emerald green hair, extremely long eyelashes, and silver eyeshadow appears from one of the many doors and peppily introduces herself as Savera before practically ripping the dress off me and setting me on a table. She looks over me as if I'm a rare animal she might never lay eyes on again.

I'm too numb to object. The rest of my prep team, a short woman with sky blue hair and abnormally thin eyebrows named Winnow, and a very tall, very thin woman with fiery red hair up to her waist and creepy golden eyes (probably contacts) named Zenobia begin to wax me in many places at once. It's an awful sensation, and my skin burns with every strip of fabric they tear off of me. I have never cared about how much hair I have on my body until that moment. I wish humans didn't have so much hair and in such odd places.

They move me as needed and I feel completely vulnerable and embarrassed. I've only ever allowed one person to see me fully naked in the sunlight and that was Daphne because she was healing the several cuts I acquired on one particular day when I was knocked out of a tree by a storm. Even Misha, with all the things we did, only saw me naked with moonlight to aide his eyes. So this— this is weird.

But strangely I don't find myself wanting to punch them. They are fascinating specimens, the three of them, and despite their obvious enjoyment of the Games and fixing me, they seem to genuinely care about my wellbeing.

They are not to blame.

I've been in the Remake Center for more than three hours and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently he is aiding Griffin's stylist with something, though I don't know what.

I tire of waiting.

In those three hours not only have I been fully waxed, but I've also been scrubbed down with a gritty loam that's probably removed three layers of my skin, and even had my nails clipped into nicer shapes.

My skin burns when they are done, and it's tingling too. Savera instructs Winnow and Zenobia to grease me down, and the two women rub me down with a lotion that at first stings, but then soothes my raw skin.

They pull me to stand and leaving me totally naked, then circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. They make me very self conscious as their eyes scan my body.

"She's ready!" Savera decides. "Let's tell Griz."

They dart out of the room. As much as they hurt me I know they're just doing their job. I like them, for the most part.

I stand, my arms crossed over my chest, shifting my weight on my legs and breathing deeply. My hair is draped over my shoulders, so I let my hands fall to cover my privates. My hair does a good job of covering my breasts.

I suppose I must look nice, though I don't dare look in the mirror. I'm not a vain person, and I certainly don't want to get used to looking like this, because it's so much damn work.

Besides, I might not live long enough to see myself this way again, so why get accustomed to it?

The door opens, and a young man who must be Griz enters. I try not to judge him for having his hair emerald green like Savera's. He looks normal though, as he doesn't have any makeup on, which I suppose is good since it'd make his silver eyes look weird. His tan arms have golden and white tattoos over them making nice patterns.

"Hmmm," he says. He comes closer and looks me up and down, muttering to himself. Finally he says, "Good. Hello, Morgan. I'm Griz, your stylist."

"Hi," I say, noticing he's now looking at my face and not my body.

"Your hair is nice," he says. "I think we'll leave it like that. Natural. You already have it sort of wavy, so I won't touch it. Now, why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat."

I quickly pull on my robe, and I follow him through a door into a sitting room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be nearing noon. We arrived relatively early.

Griz invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across from me. He presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey.

I try to imagine assembling this meal myself back home. Chickens are very scarce and frankly, very expensive. I'd probably need to steel two mahogany bed frames for the old woman at the edge to give me two of her hens. The creamy sauce I might make with the milk from the few cows we have in the outskirts of the village. The grain looks similar to one a particularly quiet vendor with three children sells, but I'm not sure if it is that. Fancy rolls I might need to get from the bakery after trading wooden planks. The pudding looks abnormal. I'm not even sure if I'll try it.

I must have been stating at the food very intently because Griz laughs and I look up at him.

"Take what you'd like," he urges. "Don't worry about it."

I take some chicken and eat small portions.

"Friendly reminder from Johanna not to eat too much," he pipes up as he too begins to eat, and I roll my eyes, but listen, and put back the rolls I'd gotten.

"Now," Griz says once we've both eaten enough. "There's hardly anything we can do with you tributes from Seven because you work with trees. What else is there to do? I don't want paper for you, no, though perhaps next year I will try it. Anyway, trees."

For the opening ceremonies, you're supposed to wear something that suggests your district's principal industry. District Eleven, agriculture. District Four, fishing. District Three, factories.

For as long as I can remember, the tributes from Seven have been dressed as trees. Just great.

I don't object as Griz squeezes me into a very tight fitting dress the color of bark that curves around my figure all the way to the floor. Around the neck, waist, and on the ends of the dress, leaves are attacked. My hair is left down, and Savera and Winnow put some cleverly attached leaves on it while Zenobia gives me green eyeshadow and a dark red lipstick.

I'm left looking like mother nature, but honestly, it doesn't look as bad as it looked for the tributes last year, who had branches all over them.

But I can't get used to feeling pretty. It's not a good idea.

Griffin meets us outside the Remake Center, accompanied by his stylist, Gliese, who I find is actually Griz's sister. He's dressed in a completely green suit with a strange branch crown in his hair.

"Don't you two look lovely!" Gliese sighs, and pats her brother's shoulder. With the way Griz fist bumps her and ruffles her hair, I deduce Gliese is younger.

We linger there for awhile, getting the finishing touches and getting perfume that makes us smell like pine all over.

To think Daphne saw it as a problem earlier.

I wish I could smell like mint too. Like Misha.

I hope he isn't dead...

We're then whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are their natural brown color but have green manes, which I think looks ridiculous. I wonder if the horses think they look cool.

But they probably don't. They don't care. They're Capitol beasts and nothing more. Not the loving mares we have to help us pull planks.

I love horses.

But not these.

Griz and Gliese direct us to our chariot and carefully arrange us on it before leaving. They will likely sit in the crowd and watch, like the other citizens.

Johanna and Blight run up at the last second. "Act innocent," Blight says. "Shy. Griffin especially."

"Do it for the first few minutes, Morgan," Johanna says. "But I want you to slowly act giggly and make it seem like you're starting to have fun. Nudge Griffin until he waves."

"Alright," I say. Poor Griffin just winces. He clearly doesn't like having to be so fake.

Neither do I.

The opening music begins. It's easy to hear, blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home (and prison) until the Games begin.

The twins from One ride out in a chariot pulled by snow white horses. The girl, who's name I learn is Silver, and her brother, who's named Titus, are both spray painted silver (probably because of the girl's name, let's be real). Their tunics are glittering with jewels. District One makes luxury items for the Capitol, so they're naturally always the favorites. Our District usually ships the mahogany furniture we make to theirs to not only use but also glam up for the Capitolians, though sometimes it would go straight to the Capitol.

District Two follows. The girl, Tressa, and the boy, Atlas, are dressed in fabulous grey outfits with gold lining the sleeves and their heads, where golden laurel wreaths sit. Masonry. Of course.

The ones from Two are also some of the favorites. The ones who almost always win. The ones who are the worst Killers.

It's awful when we first come out. Griffin gasps loudly at the sight of the crowd and the bright lights, and he grabs my arm, which makes him look as shy as Blight wanted.

At first I don't know how to react. Then slowly, I do as Johanna had said, and awkwardly wave my hand. The crowd cheers and I wave a little higher, letting myself smile. I do as I was instructed and nudge Griffin, who reluctantly lifts his hand to wave.

As I gain confidence, Johanna and Blight's instructions ringing in my ears, I blow kisses to some of the crowd members. The people of the Capitol are going nuts, showering us with flowers, and yelling our names.

They're airheads.

The pounding music, the cheers, the admirations work their way into me, and I realize I'm actually excited.

Maybe they're not airheads. Not really.

For the first time I feel hopeful for myself and Griffin. Surely a sponsor will see us and give us help, right?

Someone throws me a bouquet, and my swift hand catches it, though thankfully no one notes it. Griffin takes it from me and smells it, and a small smile appears on his face. He waves in the direction of the person, and about a hundred hands reach up to wave back at him.

The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Our horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow's mansion, and we come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish.

The president, a small, thin man with paper white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. At one point it shifts to me and I giggle, covering my mouth to feign embarrassment.

When the national anthem plays, they go around our faces once more before the chariots parade around the circle a final time then disappear into the Training Center.

The doors have only just shut behind us when we're engulfed by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they babble out praise at our shy act. As I glance around I see some of the girls are staring at me like they're annoyed with my presence. The boy from Two smirks at me and winks.

I don't hesitate to wink back before he walks away. Why not flirt?

The one I notice most is the boy from Four, Benjamin O'Hara. He looks me up and down and I blush before waving at him. He points at himself as if questioning it, and I nod, giggling. He grins and begins to walk over to me.

Suddenly he's grabbed and forced to turn around. A sandy haired man who is probably one of the most attractive people I have ever seen leads him away and shoots me a glare, as if to say "don't even try it." He leans down and whispers something in Benjamin's ear, before disappearing with him down the hall.

Suspicious.

I roll my eyes, in case anyone is watching, and allow Griz to lead me back upstairs, where Johanna greets me with more praise.

"Excellent!" She says. "Really good you two. Now Morgan, did you pick a boy yet?"

"Definitely," I say. "Four. Benjamin O'Hara."

"Good choice," she says. "Why him, exactly?"

"He's attractive," I say with a shrug. "And my age. Also, a Career."

"He looked at her," Griffin pipes up. "And he was going to talk to her but his mentor pulled him away."

Johanna laughs. "Oh, Finnick," she sighs. "I think he doesn't want his boy going soft."

"Maybe," I say. "I'll still talk to him tomorrow."

"Oh, you better," Johanna says. "Trust me. It's the key to your success."


	3. Chapter 3

Let me just say I don't have sweet dreams.

I don't think I have ever gotten the chance to have an actually good dream. I hardly dream anything, honestly. I have nightmares at least once a month, and otherwise just have a dreamless sleep.

But it seems the excitement of the day leaves me so exhausted that although I fall asleep quickly, it also brings back memories.

And memories aren't always good.

Gretchen screaming for me not to be reaped. Devan holding her back. Daphne collapsing in Misha's arms. Brannock's mother coming to see me. Misha kissing me. Misha being dragged away.

Every few times the nightmares hit where those people I love are being hurt, or killed, and I wake up screaming.

Misha. Misha. Misha. I'm constantly dreaming about him. I need to see him. Or at least need to know where he is.

The third time I wake up screaming, I can no longer sleep. Dawn is breaking through the windows. The Capitol has a misty, haunted air. My head aches— I think I slammed it against the headboard sometime during the night.

Stupid mahogany.

Slowly, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. Still half asleep I punch random buttons on the control board and end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me.

My biggest enemy before the Games might be the shower.

It's weird washing myself after the prep team turned me into a hairless cat of sorts. My skin is so smooth now, I can't help repeatedly running my hands over it. I can actually see every feature of myself. I guess I'm not completely ugly.

It's much easier to clean my hair and skin now that they're not absolutely filthy. It's almost therapeutic to graze my skin with soap, as it slides over it effortlessly now without drawing dirt.

When I'm dried and moisturized with about seventeen different types of lotion, I find an outfit has been left for me at the front of the closet. Tight black pants, leather shoes, and a long sleeved, tight fitting, teal shirt. I throw my hair up in a messy bun. I have to look cute today, or at least look similar to what cute should be. At training I'll be having to chat up Benjamin O'Hara, and if I'm not appealing, he won't want me.

I look at myself in the mirror before deciding against the teal shirt. I peel it off of myself and instead pick a tighter spaghetti strap shirt that is really more like a crop top after I tie a knot in the front.

Cuter, I suppose.

Seductive, perhaps. Flashing my newly polished skin.

I head out to breakfast, hoping there will be food ready this early.

I'm luckily not disappointed. While the table is empty, a long board off to the side has been laid with at least twenty dishes. A young man, an Avox, stands at attention by the spread. When I ask if I can serve myself, he nods assent. I load my plate with eggs and a slice of pale purple melon, steering clear of the sausages and batter cakes. As I eat, I watch the sunrise.

It would be beautiful back home. But it's not here.

When I'm nearly finished, Blight comes in with Griffin at his heels. They serve themselves plates and sit with me.

"Good girl, keeping away from too many carbs," Blight notes as he sips his orange juice.

I smile wryly and Griffin pokes my arm.

"I heard you screaming," he says quietly.

I flush red. "O-Oh, sorry. I hope I didn't keep you up."

"I never went to sleep."

I can't help wanting to hug the poor kid. I pat his shoulder, and Blight clears his throat.

"You guys will be fine today," he says. "Just fine. Just stick to the plan. Try out skills, be godawful at them, report what you might be good at. Johanna and I will train you, and that'll be that."

I nod. I'm still nervous about training. There will be three days in which all the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon, we'll each get a chance to perform in private before the Gamemakers. I'm anxious to meet the new tributes properly, even though I don't trust any of them and know I won't find a friend among them.

The only one I'm focusing on is Benjamin.

I want Griffin to be my only ally.

"So," Johanna says as she strides in and piles her plate, which nearly makes me mad until I remember she's the mentor and I the mentee, so I am not deserving of that privilege yet. "Down to business. Training. You WILL be coached together by Blight and I. We need you to know each other's secret strengths because no one else will know them. It'll help you help each other."

"How, exactly?" Griffin inquires.

"Well say that you are good with a spear but when the time comes you can't get to one right away. But Morgan will know and will be able to maybe get it for you. Works the other way too. You help each other, capiche?"

"Yeah," I say, and Griffin nods.

When it's almost ten, I go clean my teeth and smooth back my hair before throwing it up in a messy bun. I wish I actually knew how to style my hair.

Then we all go down the elevator. Rupalia escorts us, fixing my shirt so I don't have as much cleavage showing. It doesn't matter though. I'll just tug it down again when she leaves, and either way it's not like I have much to show.

The actual training rooms are below ground level of our building. With these elevators, the ride is about forty seconds. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses.

It's amazing.

All the tributes get a cloth square with their district number on the back. It infuriates me slightly. I guess they're supposed to be for the Gamemakers that watch us from above to know where we're from while they observe us every now and then. But it's insulting that they need them because they won't bother to learn our names.

It only reminds me of how disposable we are.

As I get mine pinned on tightly I look around.

"He's looking at you again," Griffin says, nudging me.

I look to where he's facing and see Benjamin O'Hara's eyes are indeed fixated on me.

He looks even more attractive in his tight pants and hardly-a-shirt tank top.

I wave at him, and immediately he strides up to me.

"I don't think I got to introduce myself properly yesterday," he says, holding his hand out to me, an enchanting smirk on his face. "Benjamin O'Hara. District Four."

"Morgan Reeves," I say, shaking his hand with an air of timidness. "Seven."

"Seems Seven is my lucky number," Benjamin says, winking at me before walking back to where his district partner is staring indignantly at me.

"She's jealous of you," Griffin notices as the girl from Four yanks Benjamin away, almost as if she's keeping me from talking to him again.

"Of course she's not," I say, though she just might be.

"She is," he insists. "Benjamin isn't even looking at her, and they're supposed to be a sort of team."

"She won't be jealous in about ten minutes," I mutter. "Not when she sees me screw up everything there is inside here."

As soon as the last two tributes join the circle we've made, the head trainer, a tall, athletic woman named Atala steps up and begins to explain the training schedule. Experts in each skill will remain at their stations. We will be free to travel from area to area as we choose, per our mentor's instructions. Some of the stations teach survival skills, others fighting techniques. We are forbidden to engage in any combative exercises with another tribute. There are assistants on hand if we want to practice with a partner.

When Atala begins to read down the list of the skill stations, my eyes can't help flitting around to the other tributes.

Shit. And I say it for many reasons.

Let's see. The girls from One, Two, Four, Five, Eight, Ten, and Eleven are all taller than me, although some have clearly never been fed properly. The girls from One and Two might also be stronger than me, which isn't the best thing.

When Atala releases us, the Career tributes head straight for the deadliest looking weapons in the gym and handle them with ease.

I trail behind Benjamin immediately as he heads to the spears.

"Hey," I say, putting on my best smile. Thankfully it's not too hard for me to flirt once I have a goal and some confidence. Misha used to tell me that I could flirt with the devil and make him believe I liked him.

Thinking of Misha makes me falter, but only slightly, and Benjamin doesn't notice.

He looks me up and down. "Are you going to challenge me, Morgan?"

"No," I say, shifting my weight. "I just want to watch."

He laughs and raises an eyebrow. "How about you show me first? Wouldn't want to reveal a skill."

He's witty, I'll give him that. He must remember Johanna acted innocent and think I might be doing the same.

Perhaps his mentor, the attractive man, told him.

Finnick. The name sounds familiar but I've never really paid attention to things like that.

Thankfully I've never handled a spear. When the trainer places it in my hands my arm sags, and I hiss in slight pain.

Benjamin watches me intently. I wince as I lift it, and throw it so pathetically it's not only half real but entirely believable.

"Damn," Benjamin says. "That was bad, no offense."

"I've never used a spear," I say, wincing as I massage my arm, which does actually hurt.

"Allow me," he says. He takes me arm, and his fingers work magically over my skin, making me sigh as I feel the tension be relieved.

I allow myself to moan and close my eyes, hearing Benjamin chuckle.

"That feels so good," I whine quietly.

"I have magical hands," he responds, his fingers grazing expertly over my arm.

"Thank you," I say, blushing.

Benjamin smirks. "I guess I can show you my skill now."

He grabs a spear and weighs it in his hand, then throws it. It lodges just off the center of the target.

I giggle and clap. "You're really good!"

"Thanks," he says. "Don't despair though, I'm sure you'll find something you're good at."

"I hope so," I reply. For good measure I tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then walk to the next station.

I spend the day making a complete fool of myself, and showing the others I really am a dud. When I check on Griffin, he's doing the same, except I see him take a second try at swords. I think that might be his strength.

After failing miserably at throwing knives and making Tressa, the girl from Two, cackle at my efforts, I go to the knot tying station where the trainer is pleased to have students. I guess no one cares enough to learn to tie knots.

Of course I'm very good at it, and the trainer applauds me as I make some very complicated knots. I've been working with ropes to climb trees and pull planks forever, so I assume I must know every knot combination possible.

"So you found your skill."

I turn and see Benjamin looking down at me.

"Yes, I suppose I did," I say, holding up the long rope I have on my lap where a different knot appears every five inches.

He claps and sits beside me, and also begins working on knots.

"You and your District partner are no offense, bad at a lot of things," he says. "But the kid was sort of okay with the wrestling, since he's small and quick."

"It's just, we don't work at the mills until we're eighteen," I lie. "We don't get to handle weapons unless our parents let us, and most parents don't."

"So Johanna Mason's parents did."

I knew he was connecting me to her. He's no idiot.

"Exactly," I say. I decide to continue the lie. "She told me, you know, that her parents used to let her help cut wood in the backyard. My parents, well, they've been dead for awhile, and my brother wasn't about to let us screw up all their work by cutting off our fingers."

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents," he says. "What happened?"

Although I'm glad he's not focusing on how much I am like Johanna Mason anymore, I don't know how I feel about the subject.

"Promise you won't tell?" I say quietly.

He nods, and I really do think he won't. He seems like a genuinely nice guy.

"There was an accident in their mills. Conveniently, it was them and a lot of other people who'd committed smaller crimes that died."

"Crimes?"

"They um... used to steal from the mills to sell on the side. They had my brother do it too. It was just after my sister hurt her leg really bad, and we needed money to pay for her brace. They were killed, probably not on 'accident' though. So now, my brother will have to keep doing the stealing."

"Oh," he says. But he nods, and pats my shoulder. "I get it— I do. That's awful that the Capitol couldn't just help your sister."

"Yeah, well."

I suddenly feel like someone is watching me. I turn my head slightly back and see the girl from Two is staring at me curiously from only a few feet away.

I turn red. Did she hear?

But all she does is glare at me, then point at Benjamin, then herself.

Oh. She's jealous that he's talking to me.

I shrug and she grits her teeth before storming away.

"All the girls are mad you're talking to me," I mutter. "They probably don't know what you see in me."

"I see someone who has a lot of potential that just hasn't been discovered," he says with a shrug.

He then leans over and kisses my cheek, then stands up and leaves.

I blush, and put my hand on my cheek.

The plan is working.

That day at lunch, I sit with Griffin only briefly before making a bit show to eat near a window.

I'm open access to Benjamin and Benjamin only.

"Hey stranger."

I turn and see Benjamin, smirking at me with his tray in his hands. "May I sit?"

"Of course." I scoot over and he positions himself right beside me. "How are you now, Miss Reeves?"

I blush. "I'm good. You, Mr. O'Hara?"

"Good too." He stares intently at me. I keep eating slowly, my eyes not removing themselves from his face.

I hear the tributes being called back to their respective floors. As soon as Benjamin offers me his hand to help me up, I take it, and use it to pull myself up in order to place a kiss on his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

I feel him tense, but he doesn't move me away. His hand finds itself with my hip, and holds me firm as he moves his face and presses a soft kiss on my cheek, just as close to my mouth, in return.

"I'll be seeing you around," I whisper before walking away, making sure to sway my hips for him as I depart.

Being seductive isn't as hard as I thought.

The next three days Griffin and I cautiously go from station to station, still bad at everything. We end up fixating on the valuable ones like starting fires, making shelters, etc.

During lunches, I sit with Benjamin by the window, never once letting him actually kiss my lips, even though he keeps trying to.

He's allowing affection. He's allowing feeling.

It'll be his downfall.

After the first day, Griffin and I had reported to Johanna and Blight what we felt our skills might be. I told Johanna I felt a connection with knives, and as I predicted, Griffin wants to focus on sword fighting.

We train for hours after our actual session with the other tributes, and end up destroying half the dorm we have, but it's no matter.

Because by the third day, Griffin is pretty good at swords and even spears.

And I get very very good with both knives and axes.

"You're like another version of myself," Johanna says proudly as I finish another session of hitting targets with distractions in my way. Every single one hits the bullseye.

"Thanks," I say, wiping the sweat off my face. "But that's expected, since you taught me."

This makes her smile.

The Gamemakers appear early on the third day. Twenty or so men and women dressed in deep purple robes sit in the elevated stands that surround the gymnasium, sometimes wandering about to watch us, jotting down notes, other times eating at the endless banquet that has been set for them, and ignoring the lot of us. They don't seem interested in me at all.

Breakfast and dinner are served on our floor, but at lunch the twenty four of us eat in a dining room off the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room and you serve yourself. The Career Tributes gather rowdily at one table, and I notice Benjamin waves me over with his looks, though I decline to sit with the Careers and point at the window, then making a pinching motion to signal we'll rendezvous in a little bit before I go to sit with Griffin.

"So we have to do bad, right?" Griffin asks.

"Yep," I say, nibbling on the one piece of bread I've been allowed to have these past days. A reward from Johanna for working so hard.

When I finish my food, I head to the window and wait for Benjamin.

He comes moments later, an apple in his hands.

"So, Miss Reeves, how ready are you for today?" He asks casually.

"Not at all ready," I lie smoothly. "I'm not like you, Mr. O'Hara. I still can't hold a stupid knife properly. I think maybe I'll show my knot tying skills but I'm pretty hopeless."

I look down sadly, and he lifts my chin delicately.

"How about a kiss for luck?" He mumbles.

"You're on the right track," I whisper back, smirking at the thought of just how easily I've manipulated him.

The only problem is I wish I didn't have to.

He presses his lips on mine just as tributes begin to be called.

Our mouths connect for few seconds before I pull away.

"Go kick ass," I breathe. "Show them what you're made of."

He nods then leaves, smirking the entire way to the doors.

When it's my turn, I do a shitty job of throwing knives then do a few good knots, just as I told Benjamin I'd do.

I can't stop thinking about how soft the kiss was.

After dinner that night, we go to the sitting room to watch the scores announced on television. Griffin tells us he's confident he'll score low, and he's happy about it.

First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally get in the eight to ten range. Benjamin scores a ten, along with Atlas from Two. Tressa scores a nine, and Silver and the girl from Four both score an eight.

Griffin's picture appears first. He manages a four, which Blight and Johanna think is perfect.

My picture appears, and below it, a three.

"Yes!" Johanna says. "Yes— perfect! Now if the tributes had doubts about you, they'll think for sure you genuinely suck at everything."

Griffin manages a laugh and I join him. It's going good for us.

I go to sleep, and like every past day, I'm plagued with nightmares. Devan and Gretchen take up all of them. I haven't heard anything from anyone about them and after what I told Benjamin, and what I think the girl from Two heard, I'm afraid I've done damage. But no news is meant to be good news, right? At least, that's what Johanna told me after I told her what happened. She says I shouldn't worry.

But I do, and I wake up screaming with every dream of them being executed in the square, and hearing Gretchen's screams.

At dawn, I lie in bed for awhile, watching the sun come up on a beautiful morning. Today is Sunday, and normally, Devan, Gretchen, Misha, Daphne, and I would be having breakfast together with whatever we managed to gather from the past week.

Rupalia knocks at my door, chirping that today is a big day. I know tomorrow night will be our televised interviews. I guess the whole team will have their hands full readying us for that.

I get up and take a quick shower, being a bit more careful about the buttons I hit, and head down to the dining room, where Blight and Johanna seem to be talking to Griffin about a nightmare he had.

The stew we eat is made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums. Perfect on a bed of wild rice. I've shoveled about halfway through it before Johanna scolds me.

"Yesterday you had your reward of bread, but today you don't eat like a pig," she says. "Blight and I will be running through training drills with you first, then Rupalia will take Morgan in for coaching on the interview. Griffin, we can work with you on that since you don't need to walk in heels and wear a dress."

I groan and Griffin snickers, sticking his tongue out to me.

After intense training where Johanna throws about a million obstacles for me to avoid while I lodge knives and axes in targets (I hit every single one, and she pats me on the head) I'm sent to Rupalia.

She keeps me by her side for three hours. Right now I really appreciate that she doesn't look like Effie Trinket or one of the others because I'd be afraid to look at her for so long if she did. She puts me in a full length dress and several different heels, and teaches me about the essence of eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Thankfully I'm not too bad at it.

The next morning I'm not jolted awake by a dream, but by my prep team.

Savera, Winnow, and Zenobia work on me until late afternoon, not fixing me up too much, but enough so my hair is curled nicely— like honey falling over my shoulders. They erase my face with a layer of makeup and draw my features back out. Huge dark eyes, full red lips, lashes that throw off bits of light when I blink.

Then Griz enters, holding an emerald green floor length dress that goes nicely around my figure and is a halter top. It's all glitter, and it looks dazzling on me.

"Hmm," he muses, looking over my makeup. He then smiles and helps me out it on.

"Griz," I say softly once I twirl for him in front of the mirror. "Thank you."

For the first time in my life, I feel truly beautiful.

"Of course," he says. "No jewels now except earrings— these emeralds in the shape of hearts. You are innocent, radiant, desirable, and frankly as far as they know, pretty bad at everything. It helps that your skin is tough and keeps your hands smooth instead of letting your handling of knives make callouses."

I am thankful for that fact too.

When I'm fully ready, we meet up with the rest of the District Seven crowd at the elevator. Griffin looks very grown up in his suit, and Gliese has added emeralds around the cuffs and on his tie, which is a good touch to make Griffin look adorable enough so no one takes him seriously. Only the few of us know he's more capable of killing than most, and his skills with a sword are wicked.

When the elevator doors opens, the other tributes are being lined up to take the stage. All twenty four of us sit in a big arc throughout the interviews.

Just stepping onto the stage makes my breathing rapid and shallow. I can feel my pulse pounding between my temples. It's a relief to get to my chair, because between the heels and my legs shaking, I'm worried I'll trip. Although evening is falling, the City Circle is brighter than a summer's day. An elevated seating unit has been set up for prestigious guests, with stylists commanding the front row. The cameras will turn to them when the crowd is reacting to their handiwork. A large balcony off a building to the right has been reserved for the Gamemakers. Television crews have claimed most of the other balconies. But the City Circle and the avenues that feed into it are completely packed with people. Standing room only. At homes and community halls around the country, every television set is turned on. Every citizen of Panem is tuned in. There will be no blackouts tonight.

Caesar Flickerman, the man who has hosted the interviews for more than forty years, bounces onto the stage. It's a little scary because his appearance has been virtually unchanged during all that time. Same face under a coating of pure white makeup. Same hairstyle that he dyes a different color for each Hunger Games.

This year, his hair is crimson, and his eyelids and lips are coated the same shade. It literally looks like he's bleeding. Caesar tells a few jokes to warm up the audience but them gets down to business.

Each interview lasts three minutes. Then the buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. I'll say this for Caesar— he really does his best to make the tributes shine. He's friendly, tries to set the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and can turn a weak response into a memorable one by the way he reacts.

The twins from One as always, catch my eye, as they are both dressed in completely silver outfits (no surprise) that are even more dazzling than what they wore to the tribute parade. Both their angles are seductive. They're both attractive, I'll give them that, but they're sixteen. Still a bit young for that— even I wouldn't want to do it.

I sit like a real lady, just how Rupalia showed me. Beside me, Griffin keeps fidgeting.

When my name is called, I stride up to the stage as gracefully as I can, and the crowd cheers.

I sit across from Caesar and he grins.

"My my, your stylist certainly outdid himself, Morgan!" He says.

"He really did," I say. "Griz is excellent."

The camera turns to him and he waves, Gliese clapping happily beside him.

"You're looking quite happy, Morgan," he says.

"I am, for the most part," I say. "But still sad."

"Oh, I'd expect so, after what happened."

"Yeah, a three... I feel really ashamed. I did try my best though."

I look at the other tributes and Benjamin grins in my direction.

Caesar looks somewhat confused. "Oh, yes of course, that," he says.

I blink. "Was that not what you meant?"

"Not exactly. The other thing," he says. "And, I think everyone is with me when I say I'm terribly sorry about what happened. I'm sure the three is because of it."

I blink, and I feel my heart stop beating. "What— what are you talking about? I—I got a three because of what? Because as ashamed as I am I won't pretend that something distracted me, I'm just godawful at everything and well, my hands are too nice to—"

But I can't even finish, because Caesar looks really shocked, and really confused.

"I'm sorry— you mean— you don't know?" He looks to the audience and it's clear he's asking someone, though I don't know who, for an explanation.

"Don't know what?" I say, a bit harshly. What the hell is he talking about?

I can see Johanna and Blight are confused. So are other people— no one seems to have any idea what's going on.

"Don't know what, Caesar?" I inquire, looking at him.

His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

"Caesar, tell me," I snap, which makes the audience shift uncomfortably.

"I-I thought you were told about your— your family—"

My heart sinks. No. No— he has to be joking.

"What about my family?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"That— they're— they're dead."


	4. Chapter 4

" _That— they're— they're dead_."

The words hit me like a bullet. I literally feel my chest tighten, and my hands shake.

No. It's not possible. It can't actually be happening.

My vision is beginning to blur. Caesar is becoming nothing but a orange-ish outline now.

"They're— what?" I say, feeling all the color draining from my face. There are collective gasps all around.

The buzzer sounds and Griffin is called. I get up, and without thinking, sprinting nonstop back the way we came and back to the District Seven floor.

I can't think. I can't say anything. I feel myself crying but I can't even register why I'm doing that, not exactly.

I kick open the doors, sprinting past two cleaning Avoxes and run to my room, gasping for air as I stumble in.

I let out a furious scream, hitting my own head in my hands. I rip the dress off of me, and throw it across the room. I kick off the shoes then scream again as I throw them straight at the window.

I don't give a damn that I'm completely naked. I've ripped anything and everything around me to pieces and have collapsed on the floor, crying, and hugging myself, because now I'm cold.

I'm stupid. Stupid for throwing off the dress. Stupid for running away from the interview.

Stupid for trusting my family would be safe.

Stupid for telling Benjamin in such a public place— or even telling him at all. I don't even know what was going through my mind when I chose to tell him.

All I know is it was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done.

I'm confused. I'm angry. I want to commit an actual murder now. It's a desire I didn't know I was capable of having, but I have now.

And it isn't going away.

Did the girl from Two, Tressa, tell her mentor? I don't understand what happened, and that makes me more furious. I don't know what's going on, why my family is no longer alive.

All I feel is despair. This is all my fault. All of it.

I should be dead.

"Morgan!"

Johanna runs in, and falls to the ground beside me, grabbing my shoulders.

"NO!" I scream, pushing her off me, though keeping my body covered. "Don't touch me!"

"Morgan, I'm trying to help—"

Next it's Blight that runs in to stop me from hitting my own head against the wall.

"Hey— stop it!" He hisses, prying my arms away from my face and holding them behind me.

"STOP IT!" I scream back at him, angrily kicking my legs out as Johanna tries desperately to cover me as Blight keeps my hands away from my own face, that I want to slap for being so stupid.

"Morgan— stay calm," Johanna says. I know it must be the most soothing voice she can muster. "Please— we only just found out what happened."

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"STOP MOVING OR WE'LL SEDATE YOU!" Blight roars in my ear, so loud it makes me sob from the ringing it causes, and the pain from my eardrum being assaulted.

I stop crying and screaming long enough for them to explain, which they begin to do only after I've put on a bathrobe that is too soft.

I don't deserve the comfort.

Apparently the girl from Two had heard me. She went to her mentor— Enobaria, a woman with razor sharp teeth lined with gold— and told her everything. Enobaria had told one of the Capitol officials and yesterday, just when I'd been dreaming of my family dying, they'd been killed.

Devan had been killed first. As he was walking home from the mill, Peacekeepers had tackled him and beaten him in front of everyone. Then the firing squad had finished the deed.

Daphne was next. She'd ran out to see the commotion. She didn't understand why Devan was being hurt.

She'd begged them to stop hurting her 'son.' They shot her on sight.

Gretchen was the last one. She'd been dragged out of school— yanked directly out of a class. While she screamed and protested they took her to where Devan and Daphne's bodies lay. When she saw them she screamed, and they shot her.

There was no word on Misha. He hadn't been seen since the reaping. No one knows if he'd died or not, or just been tortured.

Johanna then tells me how Caesar was told that I knew about the incident by Enobaria. She had wanted him to give me the shock in front of thousands of people— to have my district watch my reaction along with the rest of the Capitol.

"Morgan," Blight says softly, his voice raspy after yelling at me. "I'm so sorry—"

"D-Don't be sorry," I say in a hoarse voice. "I-I should be sorry. This is all my f-fault."

"No it isn't," Johanna insists. "How could—"

"I GOT THEM KILLED!" I scream, kicking against Blight to get him to release me. "I OPENED MY STUPID MOUTH AND NOW THEY'RE DEAD!"

"You couldn't have known they'd—"

"I STILL KILLED THEM! I FUCKING KILLED THEM, JOHANNA!"

"Morgan, it's not your fault—"

"YES IT IS! IT'S ALL MY FAULT! THEY'RE DEAD BECAUSE OF ME!"

"They might have been killed if they'd found out another time! The Capitol is just evil—"

"I'M EVIL TOO! I GOT THEM KILLED! I'M THE REASON THEY GOT KILLED NOW! I'M THE REASON GRETCHEN WILL NEVER GROW UP AND NEVER BE THE HEALER SHE WANTED TO BE! AND DEVAN WON'T BE ABLE TO GET MARRIED AND DAPHNE WILL NEVER GET TO RECONNECT WITH HER SISTER AND MISHA—"

This causes me to choke on my own tears and spit, and I go limp in Blight's arms.

"M-Misha," I sob, my body shaking. "I-I don't know where Misha is... he could be dead or worse and that... that's my fault—"

"What happened to Misha was most definitely not your fault, he did it—"

"NO! IF I HADN'T GOTTEN REAPED THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED!"

"You might have been reaped even if you'd had only one slip! You can't control it!"

I shake my head, holding it in my hands. Everything is so loud. My own screaming is hurting my ears but I like it. I enjoy the pain I feel. In fact, I should feel more pain. I'm an awful person who deserves to suffer for what I did.

"Morgan, please," Blight says gently, pulling me down to sit on the ground. "You're not at fault— you couldn't have known that girl would tell, you didn't mean to...."

But all I do is shake my head and gasp for air. I can't talk anymore, the words simply won't come out. I don't deserve words.

Blight pulls me into a tight hug and I burst into tears all over again and collapse onto him, my tears leaving his shirt soaked. He wraps his arms around me and I cry so much I feel I'm flooding the room. And I wish I would.

I killed my family. I deserve to die. I don't deserve this training to keep me alive. Devan and poor little Gretchen are dead because of me. And Daphne... she wasn't even related to me but I signed her death warrant the day I let her come home with me and meet Gretchen, who was the first one she adopted as a daughter.

"Look, Morgan, why don't you go shower?" Blight suggests. "Get yourself cleaned up and comfortable. Then we can talk and you can do what you need to do."

"I need to die," I say, so quietly I hardly hear him.

"Well if you feel that way then the prep team will have to bathe you."

As much as I want to die— and be sent to hell for what I did— I regret telling him anything. But now I can't simply take it back.

We only wait about fifteen minutes for the prep team to show up. After that they bathe me and scrub all the makeup off my body, and the scent I'd been enjoying on myself before this whole thing came about. They wash my hair so thoroughly I feel my scalp burning, but I know I deserve the pain.

Halfway through the shower I begin to cry again. The prep team stops, but Griz, who until then I hadn't seen sitting on a chair by the door, snaps his fingers for them to continue.

So while I'm crying, they're cleaning me. And I don't know if it makes me feel worse.

"P-Please stop being so nice to me," I manage when they're applying lotion to me.

"Nonsense," Zenobia says in a motherly voice. "We're still going to be nice."

"B-But I d-don't deserve—"

"Hush," Savera says. She shoves a toothbrush in my mouth and yanks my hands down to lotion them. Now I can't exactly talk.

When they finish, Winnow brings me a thick, fleecy nightgown and Savera helps her put it on me. Zenobia brushes my hair.

"Good," Griz says at last. "Thank you, ladies."

The three women each give me an individual hug and kiss, which I feel is highly undeserved affection.

"Hmmm," Griz murmurs, looking up at me.

"Why the hell do you always do that?" I snarl impulsively.

He shrugs, and stands.

"They do not know loss," Griz says as he approaches me. "But they do know compassion. They won't treat you like any less of a person just because of what they heard regarding the situation."

I nod numbly, though I still feel it's undeserved.

"For the record, it isn't your fault," Griz says. "Truly, it isn't. You told someone trustworthy a secret. The boy didn't do anything. That girl from Two, she eavesdropped and she told her trainer."

"B-But if I'd just kept my m-mouth s-shut—"

"Then your family might have been discovered another way."

I shake my head and Griz sighs, seeing his point won't exactly be getting across anytime soon.

He leads me out into the sitting room, where Johanna, Blight, Gliese, and Rupalia sit.

"Griffin's been sent to bed," Blight says as soon as I'm seated. "He wanted to stay but we insisted he needs rest."

I nod, and Griz sits me comfortably on the couch.

Johanna puts her hands together and leans towards me. "Have you ever heard why my family got killed?" She asks.

I shake my head. I don't remember ever hearing anything.

"When I won, they told me I was desirable," she says. "Like Finnick Odair. He was made into a prostitute by the Capitol. They wanted the same to be done to me— insisted I should sell my body. I said fuck no, because I would never stoop down to that level. In retaliation, they killed my family."

I blink, feeling my entire body go rigid. "Oh..."

"Exactly. Morgan, I'm confident either you or Griffin will win this. And BOTH of you would be wanted as prostitutes if you won. Griffin they'd leave alone for a few years like they did Finnick, but as soon as he turns sixteen they'll urge him to sell himself. They'd do it to you right away. And I believe I'm correct when I say neither of you would ever succumb to that lifestyle."

"I would never— ever—"

"Exactly. And if you refused they would have killed your family. Morgan, it isn't your fault. It feels like it is, I know, but it isn't. What harm did it do that your brother and dead parents stole things? It's not hurting anyone. The worst punishment would have been a year in prison, you know that. That's the penalty for stealing in our particular district. But no, they went as far as to kill them. They were the ones who were brutal and murderous. And they would have killed them later if you refused to be a prostitute or if you'd refused to chat up an important Capitolian. These people— they're all about punishment, and malice. You are not at fault. They were the ones who did this. If you need to blame someone, you blame that girl from Two and Enobaria."

I nod slowly. She's right. But I still feel like absolute shit.

"Let's talk strategy," Johanna says. "Now, as much as you'll hate me for pointing this out, your performance was helpful to the plan. You look weak both physically and mentally now."

"I guess," I mutter. I don't care if she pointed it out. I'm numb. I can hardly feel anything in my body, let alone hatred for anyone but myself.

"Your fellow tributes won't know what to expect when you go in there. They won't. You— you run. Run like I know you can to the Cornucopia. React quickly when the gong goes off and grab the knives and axes that'll be there. Right off the bat, we need you to participate in the bloodbath. Griffin will be getting his spear or sword, whatever he chooses, and you'll cover him, so you need to throw any weapon and kill a few people, get the Careers to focus on you."

"Kill a few people?" I murmur.

I know she'd mentioned it before but it sounds foreign to me now.

Because right now I still feel murderous.

"Yes. Or as many as you want— it doesn't matter. Whatever it takes to get yourself and Griffin away from the Cornucopia in one piece. You guard him and yourself with your life, okay? Killing can't bring you down now. You're angry, I can sense that. I want you to use it so you can eliminate as many tributes as possible."

"Fine," I say. And really, I mean it. I feel so much burning anger toward the Capitol and especially the Careers, those gossipy Careers from One and Two who have not stopped whispering things about other tributes to each other. I suppose Benjamin O'Hara is okay— I did think he was nice. I don't want to kill him specifically, but if I have to, I will.

I feel sad for having led him on. For having let him believe I cared because I kissed him and let him kiss me.

But he signed his own death warrant associating with me.

Just like my family.

"You good on the plan then?" Johanna asks.

I nod, and Blight sighs. "Good, then," he says. "Go to sleep now."

"I don't think I can sleep," I say.

"At least try," Rupalia says. It's clear she hasn't known what to say to be these past minutes we've been talking.

"Fine."

I numbly get up and trudge to my room, immediately burrowing myself under the covers.

I can still feel a faint conversation in the sitting room, but I can't hear specifics. It doesn't really matter. If they're talking about it now, it mustn't be important. Not too important, anyway.

It takes me about five minutes to decide I won't sleep— I simply can't. I'm all out of tears, but I feel like I need to cry again. My body is shaking. I'm cold— so cold, even when I'm under a blanket. My face feels dry with tears.

I don't deserve to be here, enjoying a comfortable bed with actual blankets, breathing, while my family is not. All because of me.

One hour, two, three pass, and my eyelids won't get heavy. I have to have been staring at the same painting on the wall for so long I know every feature, but really I don't, because I haven't been paying any attention to it.

What terrain will I even be thrown into? How well can I stick with Johanna's plan? How easy will it be for me to kill a living person?

Probably not that hard, I tell myself. You've already killed three people.

I'm a murderer and I haven't even stepped into the arena.

I can remember what Johanna said about it being Enobaria and the Capitol's fault. But I can't just accept that. It was me who opened her stupid mouth, me who revealed a secret that I wasn't even supposed to know, and me who ruined everything for Gretchen, Devan, and Daphne.

And Misha. God, Misha. I don't know what the hell has happened to him. Where is he being kept? Is he okay? He probably isn't, thanks to me. Is he even alive? Or did he already get killed? Has he been dead since the moment he yelled inside the Justice Building? Or is that just the main reason he disappeared? Will I find him again in pieces? Invalid? Half alive?

Wherever Misha is, I need to know.

The clock reads three in the morning when the door opens. I look, expecting to see Johanna.

It's Griffin. He's still half asleep, and carrying his blanket.

"Hi," I say, my voice cracking.

He waves and yawns, then climbs over and with his blanket around him, curls up under the covers with me, and hugs me.

"Hey, it's okay," I say as quietly as I can, rubbing his back. Griffin shakes his head.

"I'm going to die," he says. "I'm never going to see my dad... or my mom... or my baby sister."

"You will," I say. "I'll make sure you do. One of us is going home, and I want it to be you."

"I'm sorry, Morgan," he says in his small voice, the one that reminds me of Gretchen and makes me tear up. My eyes burn at the sensation. They're so tired of crying.

"It's fine," I say softly.

"No it's not. It wasn't fair."

"Griffin it was my fault."

"No. That girl was nosy. That girl told."

I don't know how to tell him that simply isn't true.

"I want her to die," Griffin says quietly. "We'll kill her, Morgan."

At first I'm shocked Griffin would say something like that.

But then I remember Griffin is just as smart as Gretchen. They know the truth of the world we live in. They know how corrupted everything is. He understands this is awful but he also understands we must play the Capitol's game.

Being here has made us both want to kill. That's what it does to us.

Griffin yawns and leans into my chest. "I'm staying here... I think I can sleep better."

"Okay," I say, simply continuing to rub his back. He eventually falls asleep, but I don't.

Before dawn, Rupalia comes and rouses us. Gliese enters and leads Griffin away. Griz brings me a simple shift to wear, and guides me to the roof. My final dressing and preparation will be alone in the catacombs under the arena itself.

A hovercraft appears out of thin air, and a ladder drops down. I place my hands and feet on the lower rungs and instantly it's as if I'm frozen. Some sort of current glues me to the ladder while I'm lifted safely inside.

I expect the ladder to release me then, but I'm still stuck when a woman in a white coat approaches me carrying a syringe. "This is just your tracker, Morgan. The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place it."

Still? Okay. I'm a statue, but sure.

I feel a sharp stab of pain as the needle inserts the metal tracking device deep under the skin on the inside of my forearm. Now the Gamemakers will always be able to trace my whereabouts in the arena. Wouldn't want to lose a tribute.

As if they can even get lost.

As soon as the tracker's in place, the ladder releases me. The woman disappears and Griz is retrieved from the roof.

An Avox boy comes in and directs us to a room where breakfast has been laid out. Despite the tension in my stomach, and the feeling of needing to throw up, I eat enough so that I'm not too full but not entering on an empty stomach either.

The one thing that distracts me is the view from the windows as we sail over the city and then to the wilderness beyond. This is what birds would see. Birds who are free and safe.

Free, unlike me.

Safe, unlike my family.

The ride lasts about half an hour before the windows black out, suggesting that we're nearing the arena. The hovercraft lands and Griz and I go back down the ladder, only this time it leads down into a tube underground, into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. We follow institutions to my destination, a chamber for my preparation. In the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room. In the districts, it's referred to as the Stock yard.

The place animals go before slaughter.

Everything is brand new. I will be the first and only tribute to use this Launch Room. The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. Popular destinations for Capitol residents to visit, to vacation. Go for a month, rewatch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even take part in re-enactments. They say the food is excellent.

I struggle to keep my breakfast down as I shower and clean my teeth. I need to throw up. But I can't, and definitely shouldn't.

Griz does my hair in two small buns under my ears, and pins my hair out of my face. Then the clothes arrive— the same for every tribute. Griz sighs as he looks at it.

"What?" I say.

He holds up the simple, tight black pants. "These have a thin fabric. Comfortable, but not warm. Brown belt? Stylish but really just useless. A salmon tank top? Also won't keep you warm and will leave you with a weird tan. This black jacket? Big pockets, yes, but won't keep you warm either. Expect a hot arena."

I nod, and he helps me dress. The last part of the outfit are soft leather boots, worn over skintight socks. Good for running.

"How are you feeling?" Griz asks.

"Awful," I murmur.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No. And I want to barf."

"Please don't do that here. When you win I don't think you'll want a barf stain on the floor for visitors to see."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not winning, Griz. Griffin is."

"Fine, but if Griffin wins they'll want to see where his district partner was."

I manage a weak laugh. I don't deserve to be laughing when my family will never be able to again.

"You didn't get a token, did you?" He asks.

"No. I didn't even think about it. I didn't have time."

"It's alright. You don't need one."

I don't, but I wish I had one. Anything to remind me of Gretchen, Devan, Daphne, and Misha, whose faces I will never see again.

"Nothing to do now but wait for the call," Griz says. "They have food here in case you want to eat more, but I wouldn't recommend it."

I nod. "Thank you, Griz."

He smiles and leads me to sit down on a bench. He puts his arm around me and I lean on him.

I don't say anything. I'm exhausted, and my eyes are just now starting to get droopy. That's not the best thing.

I'm about to go into the arena with twenty two people I know will want to make it out. I could be killed or hurt at any moment.

Frankly, death doesn't scare me. Pain does. If I get seriously hurt I'd like to just be finished off. I don't want to die slowly. A quick, painless death, is what's ideal for me.

No one will probably want to watch me at home. Word always travels fast in our District. Everyone must know it's my fault my family was killed. They'll see me as a horrible person. They won't want anything to do with me.

"They don't hate you."

I look up at Griz, who's not even looking at me, but seems to sense what I'm thinking.

"What?" I say.

"The people in District Seven do not hate you. They aren't allowed to know what happens in training. And even if they somehow told them it was your fault, they won't hate you for it. You are not the first one to get their family killed for something minor. Look at Johanna. So stop hating yourself. Go in there, get revenge on the girl if you want, and keep yourself and Griffin alive. That's all there is to do."

"Okay." I only half mean it. I'm called to go into my tube and Griz sighs, helping me into it.

"Bring it home, Morgan," he says. "I want to get to design you some outfits for the Victory tour."

I wince. After a short while, the cylinder begins to rise. For maybe fifteen seconds, I'm in the darkness, and then I can feel the metal plate pushing me out of the cylinder, into the open air.

For a moment, my eyes are blasted with light. I squint, and realize why our clothes are not going to warm us up.

Then I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice booms all around me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy third Hunger Games begin!"


	5. Chapter 5

Sixty seconds. That's how long we're required to stand on our metal circles before the sound of a gong releases us. Step off before the minute is up, and land mines blow your legs off.

Not the best way to die. I remember one year one small girl who seemed to be the youngest at that time (thirteen, I believe) went off a millisecond too early. She was sent back to her family in pieces.

Sixty seconds to take in the ring of tributes all equidistant from the Cornucopia; a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with with a curved tail, the mouth of which is at least twenty feet high, spilling over with the things that will give us life here in the arena. Food, containers of water, medicine, garments, fire starters, and most importantly, weapons.

I can see inside there's a rack with spears, swords, knives, and axes. That's where I will want to go right away— and hopefully where Griffin will meet me.

Strewn around the Cornucopia are other supplies, their value decreasing the farther they are from the horn. For instance, only a few steps from my feet lays a three foot square of plastic. Certainly it could be of some use in a downpour. But there in the mouth, I can see a tent pack that would protect from almost any sort of weather. If I can get to it, I will.

All around me are ruins. Ruins in the middle of what feels like a desert. The sun is scorching hot and the ground is an odd clay color. As I look up I can see there isn't a single cloud in the sky. Now I know why we don't have clothes that will keep us warm. It's hot as balls in here, and I assume it probably can't even rain here, though I shouldn't be too trusting that the Gamemakers won't switch it up.

The path ahead of me toward the Cornucopia is solid ground, which I'm thankful for. Considering it's a desert I might have expected sand, and that would be bad. The most I can see on the ground are some small rocks and tiny, chipped off pieces of buildings. But it's clear, no obstacles to stop me from reaching it with ease. I will be able to run to it without leaping over anything. If I run on my toes I should be not only faster, but also more nimble— enough to keep me from tripping over a chunk of wall or something.

To my right, there's a full, barren desert. Some cacti are there every twenty feet, just about. But there's no shelter unless you dig a hole in the ground, probably. I'm not entirely sure. It stretches for what looks like miles. I can see heat waves rolling off of it, and it makes the cacti shimmer. I want to bet the cacti will have the water we might need. Perhaps we should head there first, and see if that holds true.

To my left, are the actual ruins. It looks like an old Roman city, like Pompeii. In fact it reminds me of that scene from my old history book, just before the volcano erupted. This town, with buildings of clay, looks like it was destroyed by a natural disaster. The still standing walls are all cracked in several places. The foundation is uprooted. There is no glass on the windows anymore, just an empty panel. But other than that the houses are pretty intact— and could serve as good shelter in a section where it isn't destroyed.

There are forty seconds left. Next to me are the girl from Four and the boy from Six. The girl from Four is looking at me like she expects the land mine at my feet to blow up before I even get to the Cornucopia. I look where she fixates her gaze once I'm not interesting enough. She's staring directly at the spears.

Well, I'll just have to beat her there.

There is only room for one winner here.

It won't be her.

The boy from Six simply looks afraid. He's shaking from head to toe and looking around as if he expects someone to take pity on him. He's leaning forward too much and I worry he'll get blown up any second if he doesn't calm himself down.

Thirty seconds. I can't see Griffin anywhere— he's the smallest, so he should be easiest to recognize. I deduce he must be on the other side of the Cornucopia, out of my view. I wonder what he's feeling now. Does he have the same idea? To run as fast as possible to the Cornucopia? I'm not sure, and it worries me.

I can't stop thinking about him wanting to kill the girl from Two. He wants her to suffer the way she made me suffer.

I'm honored but also slightly horrified.

The Capitol has corrupted this twelve year old child.

An innocent kid who just wants to go home to his parents and unborn sister.

Twenty seconds. I don't see Benjamin O'Hara either. He must be across from the girl beside me, so perhaps nearer to Griffin. I don't want to have to run into him. He's a Career. He'll be wanting to kill me.

But part of me thinks even he will hesitate.

He, the boy who kissed me so willingly, won't want to kill me immediately.

Part of me thinks maybe I should strike an alliance with him.

Part of me thinks to kill him before he hurts Griffin.

I don't want to think about hurting him.

Ten seconds. This is only about a forty yard sprint. I'm build for this— this is what I'm good at. Of course distance isn't that bad either, but I should be best at reaching the Cornucopia out of all the heavy people here. Even the ones who were thinner put on weight. That won't benefit them.

I am a runner. I was chosen after a race to do the important job of a messenger. I am paid extra to run. I beat adults at it.

I am capable. I can make it before all of them.

Five. All I need to do is get my hands on a knife belt.

Four. I think two axes should be enough for me.

Three. I decided I'm getting that tent next to the spears for Griffin and I. Might as well grab him a spear while I'm at it.

Two. I'll kill whoever comes nearest to me first. I no longer care who.

One. I guess this is it.

I hear an explosion, but it doesn't distract me, because I am focused on the reaction I have the instant the gong sounds.

I assume someone stepped off too early and got blown sky high. But that's not my problem. I focus on my running. That's the only thing that matters at the moment.

Get to the Cornucopia. Supply myself and Griffin.

Keep him alive.

I'm bounding forward like a gazelle. I'm not the tallest here for sure, but my legs are longer than most people's. My strides carry me forward faster than the average person's.

My feet kick easily off the ground, which isn't as hard as I expected it to be. In fact, it's sort of bouncy, and I feel it propelling me forward like a sort of trampoline.

Just looking around I don't see anyone really close to me.

I'm ahead.

I reach the Cornucopia first, and immediately find a knife belt waiting for me on the wall. It's a nice leather belt with several pockets holding deadly looking knives just like the ones Johanna taught me to use. They glisten in the sunlight as I yank it off and put it on. I then jump up and rip an axe off the rack, whipping around with it still in my hand, because these few precious seconds I'd let people catch up to me.

The nearest person is the girl from Four. Her eyes widen in shock as she watches my arm fall back. I throw the axe, and it lodges in her throat, slicing clean in the center of it. She falls, gagging and twitching, holding her neck.

That causes panic.

The people not from Career districts begin to grab packs and run. No one is eager to stick around, because in an instant, four knives are in my hand and I've thrown them to everyone that could potentially hurt me.

The two from Five who were huddled together about to snatch the tent I'd wanted fall, each with a knife deep in their throat. They move for an few seconds before going completely still.

The girl from Three who managed to beat the girl from One (Silver) to the Cornucopia falls at Silver's feet, making her trip. Silver screams as her hands land in the pool of blood now around the girl from Three's face. She looks up at me, and she looks afraid.

I don't take notice of it. I launch myself forward with another knife and pin Silver to the ground, slitting her throat just before her brother reaches her.

"SILVER!" I hear Titus yell. He'd been grabbing a pack. I assume she must have been in charge of getting the weapons.

I see Griffin duck behind me to get a spear just as I throw an axe that lodges in Titus's forehead. He releases the pack in his hand and falls back, eagle sprawled. There is a shriek from the girl from Twelve and she grabs the pack he was reaching for then sprints away.

I don't feel like killing her, even though I could.

I'm already making my reputation.

I hear Griffin yank his spear off the rack. He then grabs another and comes to stand beside me. I see he's already strapped one of the larger packs on his back, which must hold a blanket since it doesn't seem too heavy.

"Where are the Careers?" I ask. They should be here. Tressa and Atlas from Two would be the type to come get weapons. I expected they would have been here alongside me. Benjamin is also nowhere in sight. After his work with a spear I assume he would have wanted to get something for himself.

"They left," Griffin says, and I see he's right. We're now completely alone in the Cornucopia, though we can't see who's outside and hiding around the corner.

"Come on," I say, grabbing another knife belt to replenish all the ones I've lost. "Grab that tent, then we walk out and go."

Griffin quickly darts out and checks around the corner. "No one on this side!"

I check the other corner and smirk. Everyone has actually disappeared. Not even the Careers dared to stick around.

"Let me collect my knives then, since no one is here," I say.

Griffin guards the sides while I skip around, ripping my bloody knives and axes out of the people I've killed. All are dead— I can see it. But the cannons won't be sounding yet, not for awhile, anyway. I then give myself the liberty to look through packs. I find one that has a container for water and a small can of corn, along with a strange jar with fiery red gummies. I put it on my back, then, for good measure, retrieve another axe for myself. I now have a total of twenty knives and two axes.

"I got some rope!" Griffin says. He ties it around his waist, then trots further into the Cornucopia and pulls out a large bottle of what is labeled to be sunscreen.

"Awesome, that works," I say. When we're both done collecting what we want, we peek around and see no one is coming towards us yet.

"We should go see if those cacti have water first," I say. "There doesn't appear to be a water source on the other side. Maybe if we're lucky we'll find a shelter to us."

We walk cautiously to the desert, Griffin leading the way with his spear in hand, and I bringing up the rear, each of my hands occupied with a knife. I don't hear anything behind us.

We walk in silence for about a mile until we reach our first cactus. Griffin does the honors and drives his spear into it. It takes a few seconds, but then some water flows out.

We take turns drinking from it, and I sigh. It's very cold, which is alleviating in this sun.

"We're lucky that wasn't poisonous," Griffin says thoughtfully.

"Honestly, yeah," I mumble. "I didn't even think of that."

That would have a stupid way to die.

I then fill the flask inside my bag all the way. "We should apply sunscreen now," I say. "Then we can scout for shelter. If we find nothing, we go to the ruins."

"Everyone will see us coming," Griffin says. "Is that safe?"

I wince. "Yeah, you're right. Should we just use the tent here, then?"

Griffin shakes his head. "No, that doesn't feel safe either. I don't know. I'm conflicted."

I sit down under the small bit of shade the cactus gives us. "I feel there's more places to be safe there just because the tent won't stand out and plus, there are a lot of ruins. We can hide anywhere. It's going to be unsafe regardless, the buildings could crumble. But here we're really out in the open."

"Mhm... okay. We'll go to the ruins. See if we can find a safe place."

Once we've come to that agreement, we apply sunscreen, taking turns to put it on our backs where we can't reach ourselves. It's soothing, and I'm very glad Griffin went back for it.

We take one more turn each, drinking water from the cactus, then head back, our weapons still in our hands.

The Cornucopia is still deserted (no pun intended? I don't know if that necessarily makes a pun) when we pass it again, and the dead bodies have not been retrieved.

"Seven," Griffin says, counting the bodies.

"Seven? I only see six."

"Six of those you killed. Seven— a boy close to me blew up."

"Oh," I say. "Yeah— I heard the explosion."

"It was really awful to watch. I actually stopped to help him. That's probably what kept me alive. Everyone else ran forward. I ran to him. I did my best to stop the blood but Morgan... his entire legs fell off. And he was bleeding other places too. I don't know how he got a cut on his head but he did. And he died. But he seemed happy I was there."

My heart aches at the thought of Griffin wanting to be there, comforting someone as they died.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I mutter. "That must have been awful."

"I wasn't scared of the blood like I thought I'd be. It was just sad."

We take another time to walk in silence. I don't even want to look at the Cornucopia anymore.

I killed six people for no good reason. Not a good enough one, anyway. It shouldn't matter to me. They might've killed me or Griffin. But I really didn't take a chance to find out. I just killed them.

We finally enter the long stretch of ruins. Griffin seems amazed walking down the path between the houses, but I'm paranoid.

"We don't know who's hidden inside each house," I say. "Any tribute might have taken shelter there. So we scout around, make sure if we hear something we check it out."

Griffin takes the lead, and we head further into the ruins. There are eerie shadows around each window, but none of the buildings directly beside us seem to be housing tributes. Otherwise we might have been ambushed already.

We go deeper and deeper into the town, finding there was indeed no sources of water here. There are fountains, but they're all dry. A pump, but it's empty. A large washing basin, but it's broken. A faucet on the wall, but it doesn't have a handle to even switch it on.

"Good thing we have water," Griffin says. "Maybe the others won't find any here and they'll die, but we won't."

"Yep," I say. I don't know what else I could add to my statement. 'Yep' is sufficient.

Once we are very deep in the town, the cannons start to sound. It seems the Gamemakers decided to start them up now rather than at noon, since the Cornucopia has been abandoned.

In total, seven cannons ring. Six are for people that I remember killing.

We finally find one building who seems to be the most damaged of all. I assume anyone else might not even risk going inside. There are no windows to look in, so if we set up a tent we should be fairly safe. There was no roof either, so there wasn't exactly any danger of it falling in on us.

Griffin set up the tent with the help of the rope he acquired, and we confirmed his pack indeed had a blanket— a quilt big enough to cover both of us. I set up our packs as pillows.

The jug of water, sunscreen, and jar with red gummies I put on the corner for easy access. Griffin puts the ropes at our feet.

The night came sooner than we expected. The sun started setting only few hours after what was the initial bloodbath. Griffin deduces that there will be more nighttime than daytime, and I don't think that's wrong.

All around us is silence. After we'd crawled into our tent it became evident that no one would likely be bothering us. We seem to have stumbled on a stretch of the town that no one had chose. That likely explained why we hadn't run into any tributes.

Of course, I knew part of it was also my fault. After watching people run away from me at the Cornucopia with nothing but fear in their eyes, I wouldn't expect anyone to try us.

Griffin and I curl up under his quilt, because the tent is cooler inside. This is a relief. I'm glad we got it.

"What are these, anyway?" Griffin asks, holding up the jar of gummies.

"Honestly, I have no idea," I say. "Should we try them?"

"I will," he says, popping the jar open. "If I start twitching just assume I'm allergic. They wouldn't throw in poison."

I nod and he pops one in his mouth and chews it. At first nothing happens but then he whined. "Ew," he says, spitting it out. He coughs and wipes his tongue on his arm.

"What happened?" I say, assuming they must have just tasted awful.

"My whole body got really hot. And it's already pretty hot here. It was like my skin was on fire, and I felt a weird warm feeling in my stomach."

I take a gummy and examine it. "Maybe they bring up your temperature. Could be useful if it gets cold."

"Yeah," Griffin says, his face still looking red. He then yawns, and I pat his back.

"Go to sleep," I say. "You're tired."

"But I don't want to leave you alone."

"It's okay. Just sleep."

He doesn't argue anymore. He curls up next to me and only moments later begins to snore very softly.

I stay up, looking through the open patch in our tent at the stars, which fill the sky. It's more beautiful than it is back at home.

Only about an hour passes before the anthem begins to play. I rub Griffin's back so he doesn't wake up.

When the faces begin to appear, I feel nothing but guilt.

First are the twins from One. Titus and Silver Flamsteed. Their faces are innocent, though I know it was very unlike them. Their parents will be losing two children in one. I don't know if they had siblings, but if they did, they'll be losing their brother and sister too.

Next is the girl from Three that I hit just before getting Silver. I don't pay attention to her name. When her shy, childish face appears I can't watch. She must have been thirteen or fourteen. Had a whole life ahead of her.

The girl from Four. Even when she looked at me in a rude manner in training, she wasn't a bad person. She must've also been around fourteen. Her eyes look sad in the picture.

The two kids from Five. Otto and Rollana. Otto had to have been maybe sixteen and Rollana fifteen. And I hurt them just because they were going to take our tent. Of course I need to keep Griffin alive, so I was going to have that tent no matter what, but I was brutal about it.

The boy from Ten is the last to appear. He must have been the one who blew up. He looked to be about seventeen just like me. Maybe he had a girlfriend back home. Or a family to take care of.

I hate this. I'm a fucking murderer.

The anthem ends, and I quickly do a take of who's been eliminated and who remains.

Both from One are gone. The girls from Three, and Four, the two from Five, and the boy from Ten.

There remain the tributes from Two (Atlas and Tressa), the boy from Three (Prospero, I think his name was), Benjamin, the two from Six, Griffin and I, the two from Eight and Nine, the girl from Ten, and the two from Eleven and Twelve.

Seventeen tributes left. Seven dead on the first day.

And that's almost entirely my fault.

I stay awake a few more hours, watching the stars. I know a bit about constellations from when I was still in school, but I don't remember much.

Gretchen loved stars. She used to tell me, on sleepless nights when we lay out in the street to observe the sky, that she wanted to find a formula to get her to the stars.

Thinking of her makes my whole body ache.

Gretchen will never find that formula. She will never get to the stars.

It's still my fault that my family was killed. My fault and my fault only.

And now I've gone and killed other people's kids— their family.

I'm a selfish, murderous, bitch.

The night drags on. It seems dawn is near when I hear movement outside. I tense, grabbing two knives and pressing the hilts into my palms.

"I am NOT going into one of those buildings," a male voice says. "They'll fucking smash us and then what?"

"I don't want to be out here and vulnerable!" A female voice replies. "She's somewhere out here!"

My ears perk up. The male voice sounds like Benjamin, and the female like Tressa.

"You're being ridiculous, Tressa," the male voice I recognize to belong to Atlas replies. "Why are you scared of that scrawny girl? Yeah, she can throw knives, but so can you!"

"I can't throw them the way she does!" Tressa says. I hear some shuffling and assume they've sat down right outside Griffin and I's building. I freeze. Any sound might alert them of our presence.

"Besides," Tressa continues, "I only have one knife. That bitch took both belts!"

"Maybe you should have beat her to the Cornucopia like we planned!" Atlas snaps.

"But Silver and Titus were in charge of weapons! I didn't think we needed to go too— you didn't! Neither of you!"

"Uh, yeah, because our task was to get packs. We didn't need to go all the way to the mouth."

"Well then it isn't my fault—"

"Shut up! Both of you!" Benjamin snaps.

At this, Griffin stirs. I quickly cover his mouth, and when he looks at me, I motion for him to stay silent.

"What's your problem?" Atlas snorts at him. "Your girlfriend isn't the starry eyed girl you thought she was?"

"Exactly! She's the problem!" Benjamin growls. "She killed Silver, Titus, and Valora! Along with three other random tributes! We— we were sure she couldn't fucking hurt a fly and she played the Johanna Mason card! I TOLD YOU GUYS IT WOULD HAPPEN!"

"Stop yelling, pretty boy, or I'll snap your neck right here," Atlas hisses. "Obviously we weren't fully expecting it, but now we work around it. It's you who trusted her anyway. I said we should make sure to kill her but no you went and started falling for her. She's hot but she's from Seven! Those people always have hidden talents and it seems others are always too stupid to see it!"

"She could kill us!" Tressa notes nervously. "She throws knives better than me! Hell, she can wield axes just like Johanna Mason! Did you see how she cut Valora's throat with it? I mean, Valora just fell—"

"Stop talking about Valora!" Benjamin pleads. I can't see him, but I sense he's put his head in his hands. "She was my friend. I knew her. Stop talking about her..."

"I bet the kid with her is just like that," Tressa says, not caring he clearly doesn't want to talk anymore. "He probably learned something in secret too!"

"I already fucking said that, Tressa! They have hidden talents! Besides, why the fuck do you care so much?" Atlas snarls, obviously now annoyed that his fellow Careers have such an issue with me. It makes me want to laugh. "What's done is done! We'll kill her later!"

"Because she hates me!" Tressa cries.

"She probably doesn't hate you," Benjamin says, his voice hoarse. "She probably just wants to get home... or she's mad about what happened."

"That's exactly why!" Tressa exclaims. "I'm the reason it happened!"

The boys say nothing. I take it as they didn't know.

"So," Atlas says cautiously, "you mean... the reason Enobaria was talking to Caesar before the interviews...."

"Morgan was telling Benjamin about her family stealing and well, I just— I told Enobaria."

"What?" Benjamin snaps. "You— you told Enobaria? What the fuck is the matter with you? That was none of your business!"

"Why are you defending her?" Tressa shrieks suddenly, as if she hadn't been expecting Benjamin to react like that. "Just because you kissed her and wanted to get her in bed with you before we came in—"

"No!" He says. "I liked her as a person— she was always really kind! And she trusted me, not you. You had no reason to butt in and reveal her secrets. And yeah, I liked her. It was not your place—"

"Shut up, pretty boy," Atlas warns him gruffly, his voice sounding like his patience for their bickering was running thin, "what's done is done."

I sense he, although believing it was wrong, doesn't want to sympathize with me the way Benjamin did.

"Yeah, obviously," Benjamin snorts. "But you got her fucking family killed, Tressa. From what I heard they killed a family friend aside from her two siblings! You— you—" he stops and sighs, seeming furious. "Whatever, Tressa. I hope you're happy with what you did."

"I'm not!" She says defensively. "S-She's going to kill me now!"

"Yeah?" Benjamin mumbles. "Well, I hope she does."


	6. Chapter 6

" _Yeah? Well, I hope she does_."

The words ring in my ears.

" _I hope she does_."

Griffin is looking up at me, his eyes wide. I hear shuffling that suggests the Careers are moving again.

We stay silent, and I keep my hand firmly on Griffin's shoulder to stop him from moving. After about five minutes I hear departing footsteps.

Benjamin doesn't care if I kill her. In fact, he's basically encouraging it.

I never even considered that I would need to kill her. I suppose I did think about it but I never exactly really thought to myself that I'd kill Tressa for what she did.

I wanted to kill her of course. I do want to. But I never ever visualized myself ending her life so outright.

And now Benjamin thinks I should.

Griffin and I wait until we can't hear absolutely anything outside to even speak.

"Well, he doesn't seem to want to hurt you," Griffin says in a small voice, sitting up as I remove my arm from his shoulder.

"Yeah," I say hoarsely. "He doesn't seem to."

For a long time I don't say anything.

What is there to say? Affirm I will kill her? Tell Griffin that Benjamin is going off on a tangent and is wrong? Try to convince him I won't kill her, or I will?

It's just something to mull over now.

Eventually, Griffin grows tired waiting for me to sat anything and goes back to sleep. He has that luxury. No guilt. No feelings. He doesn't harbor as much anger and sadness as I do.

He won't be the one to kill Tressa.

I sit in silence, thinking about what I've just heard.

It's all I can do.

In the morning it becomes apparent that Griffin and I are very hungry and hardly considered food yesterday.

I can't even believe how stupid I've been. We weren't hungry so we didn't even think of where we'd get more corn.

"I'm an idiot," I say. "Food wasn't even on my mind."

"It's okay," Griffin says, taking a sip from our water jug. He passes it to me and I drink.

"We'll have to go back to the desert to get water soon. Maybe we can see if the cacti have anything we can eat. I've had cacti with eggs before, it's not half bad."

"Okay," Griffin says.

I pop open the sole can of corn that was in my pack and split it for the two of us. It's not much, but it's something to fill our stomachs before we have to move again.

"Fine dining," Griffin sighs as he finishes. "Back home, we eat corn a lot."

"We get corn maybe once a year," I muse, still taking my time with my portion. "I usually make enough to buy it at the end of a year's time, and we have it for Christmas."

"Christmas," Griffin sighs. "I won't get another Christmas."

"Yes you will," I insist. "You're getting out of here."

Griffin shakes his head. "Morgan, I'm still hungry."

I sigh. He doesn't want to talk about the other thing. "We'll get something soon enough. Come on, let's move."

Before cleaning anything we quickly apply sunscreen onto each other, careful to get every bit of skin. When we're done, we swiftly pack our tent back in its pouch, careful not to damage it so that it doesn't end up all lopsided when we use it again tonight. It takes a little longer to get Griffin's quilt folded as small as it was to shove it back in the pack, but somehow we manage it, tie the rope around his waist, then head out.

The streets are deserted. There is no tribute in sight. I take this as a good thing, because I guess it means we won't be running into any trouble anytime soon. It's fortunate that we heard the Careers when we did, because now we know we should expect someone— anyone to be around here. They might just pop out unexpectedly.

Griffin walks carefree ahead of me. He looks well rested, and I smile.

At least he feels okay. That's all that matters to me.

I'm completely exhausted. I don't know how many hours I've been awake. It's fine though, I'd rather he get a better sleep every night in here.

"Morgan," Griffin says. "If it comes down to you and Benjamin, what would you do?"

"It probably won't come down to that."

"But if it does, what would you do? Hypothetically?"

I shrug. "I'd have to fight him. And say, oh, I unfortunately get hurt, I'll just fall and let him kill me."

Griffin blinks. "You— what?"

I guess my comment was a tad too morbid for him.

"I don't know how bad I want to make it out," I say. "I don't have anyone back home. You do, though. My plan is to get you out of here."

Griffin blushes. He looks almost guilty. "You don't have to," he says.

"I want to. You have a lot more to live for. I, well.... not anymore."

"But... Misha could still be alive."

I gulp. "Yeah, maybe. But I highly doubt it."

"He really liked you. To have done what he did."

I shake my head. "Misha was... something else. He knew better."

"He must have loved you if he risked his life like that."

"No, Griffin, I don't think he loved me."

"But you guys would kiss, right?"

"Well, yes, but just because you kiss someone doesn't mean you love them."

"Then why did you kiss?"

I didn't know how Mayor Allardyce would take to me telling his son that Misha and I were friends with benefits. And I doubt he'd like me to explain what falls under 'benefits.' I hardly even know if Griffin knows how his baby sister really ended up in his mother's tummy.

"We just did," I say at last, after a lot of internal debate on whether or not I should tell Griffin.

"Did you love him?"

"I don't know for sure if I did. Maybe yes. I suppose I loved him as a friend, but as more... I don't think I was there yet. It takes a lot for me to admit I love someone."

It's difficult for me to put my feelings for Misha into words.

"Why is love so complicated?" Griffin sighs. "It's always like this! Everyone doesn't know how to love."

"Woah, you suddenly went from twelve to nineteen," I say with a small chuckle.

"But I notice things! You and Misha— you guys really liked each other. And well my mom always tells my dad she loves him. It's so easy for her to do. But some people— like my friend Nancy's parents! They never say 'I love you' to each other."

"Things get complicated. You prioritize different things— feel different random emotions. I don't know how to explain it but it happens. Sometimes you don't feel it yet, sometimes it takes a lot to—"

Griffin yells, narrowly dodging a rock the size of a fist that flies out of a building window and almost hits his head.

I rip an axe out of my belt as the two tributes from Eight pop their heads out and throw rocks at us.

I don't hesitate. I throw the axe and the girl from Eight screams as it hits her in the middle of the face. Her body careens forward and she falls out of the window, hitting the ground with a deafening crack. Her district partner ducks under, and I can hear by the shuffling he's coming out to face us.

We hear more scuffling, and a cannon for the girl blasts just as the boy from Eight appears from around the corner, wielding two rocks.

He throws one and it slams against Griffin's collarbone, which makes him cry out in pain. I'm about to throw a knife when Griffin sends his spear forward, and it digs right into the boy's abdomen. Another cannon, and he falls.

"Ouch," Griffin says, wincing as he holds his arm up. It looks like his collarbone got dented inward.

"Damn it," I say. I run to the two tributes and yank our weapons out of their bodies. Then I pull Griffin further away. The helicopter will be picking up the bodies soon, and we don't want to be near them.

I lead Griffin into a building, rushing to get us in the shade but also away from a roof or wall that might collapse. I throw our packs down and gently grab his arm, which makes him whimper.

"It hurts," he choked, clearly holding back tears.

"It will only hurt for a bit longer," I say, though I don't know how true my statement will be. "Let's see..."

I very softly move my fingers around, feeling how his collarbone has been hurt.

"Alright," I say. "Not as bad as it could have been. You're being really brave. God, you should have seen Misha when he—"

I stop. Talking about Misha makes me sad.

I need to know where he is.

"Anyway, uh— I need to get this set," I say. I look up at the sky. "Hey sponsors! Some casts or a sling and ointment or whatever will help with this would be nice!"

There is no parachute, but I get to work anyway.

Initially I am angry. I know we have to have sponsors. Why wouldn't someone sponsor us?

But then I realize I am inducing fear as well. I might be ruining Griffin's chance for a savior.

"I think I'll need to use one of our shirts," I say at last. "Unless I get a shirt from the bodies."

"U-Use mine," Griffin chokes. "I-I don't want to owe them anything."

I carefully remove his shirt, and he bites his lip like he wants to scream, but won't let himself.

"P-Please keep talking," he says as I get to work. "It helps. T-Tell me about... what you'll do if you win."

I sigh as I begin setting his arm properly. I don't want to picture myself winning because I want Griffin to win. But I'll do it for his sake. "Well, I suppose I'll come live in the Capitol. Everyone in our District must hate me now."

"I'll pause you there," Griffin says quietly, wincing. "No one hates you."

"Griffin, I'm the reason my family was killed."

"Yeah, and? You didn't do it on purpose. It's not like you— ouch— told the Capitol to kill them."

"Well if I hadn't had such a big mouth—"

"Morgan, talk about anything else. How about...."

But he stops. I don't know exactly what he was going to ask about but I have a small feeling it might have been about Misha.

"Um, the Capitol," he says, still wincing. "If you had to marry a Victor, who would it be?"

"Marry a Victor? Well, that's difficult. I don't know many of them. I never really paid attention."

"Fine, then not marry. Which Victor or mentor do you think is attractive?"

"Griffin you ask some strange questions. Hmm, of the few I know... well, Gloss from One is pretty good looking. But let's face it, after I butchered his twins he'd probably much rather slit my throat than let me flirt with him or something."

Griffin half smiles, glad at his success at getting me to respond something. "Well, okay. Who else?"

"That sandy haired one from Four— Finnick— is good looking. But he probably hates me too."

"What? No, he doesn't hate you. Are you saying it because he didn't want Benjamin talking to you? He probably just didn't trust you."

"Yeah," I say. "Probably. He wasn't wrong."

Griffin sighs and decides that is enough questions.

I finish setting his arm with the best sling I am able to make. He whimpers, but doesn't seem to be in as much pain anymore, which I think is a good thing.

Scratch that, it is a good thing.

"How does that feel?" I ask.

"Mostly better," he says, his voice strained.

"Want to keep moving?" I ask. "I can leave you here and go or—"

"No, I'll come with."

"Griffin, if you don't feel up for it, you don't have to."

He winces. "Well, would you be okay with me staying here? I don't think anyone will bother us me here."

"Yes, by all means, if you have to then please stay."

He wearily sinks down, his good arm laying over his spear. "I think I'll wait here for you."

"Alright," I say. "Keep all the supplies, I'll stop by the Cornucopia and dig around— see if I can get food and another water jug. If not, I'll go cut some cacti."

Griffin nods. I wave at him and head down the path, following the winding roads back to the Cornucopia.

I don't think much as I walk. I'm finding myself focused— one goal in my mind. Keep sweet little Griffin alive. Right now, he needs me to provide him with food. I need to deliver.

All I can think about is making it back to the Cornucopia.

I'm almost there when I hear screaming ahead of me, but in the distance.

I freeze and press myself to a wall, holding my knife belt just in case.

The screaming continues only for about a minute afterward. Suddenly the screaming stops and two cannons sound immediately afterward.

I flinch, but don't turn back. Judging by how abrupt the screams ended, I assume it must have been a person that killed them. If it were a mutt or something I'd have heard growling and the screams would have been cut off differently.

Of course I don't know for certain, I'm just guessing.

I keep walking. Food. Griffin. Safety. Life. He needs this to feel better.

Please don't let anyone find him where I've left him...

I finally hit the clearing where the Cornucopia is, and freeze again.

I can see bodies laying inside. But these aren't dead— they're moving, breathing. Sleeping, it would seem.

One sits up, and I'm right in his field of vision.

The Careers.

"There she is!" Atlas snarls as he shoots up, grabbing a spear and making a run for me.

Benjamin and Tressa sit up behind him. Benjamin looks alarmed, and Tressa afraid.

What do I even do, run? Fight? I don't know— it happens to fast.

Atlas is running towards me now. Instinctively, I grab a knife and throw it.

He manages to dodge but it grazes his shoulder, and he shouts.

I barely have a chance to reload a knife into my hand before he swings his spear at my face.

I duck, swiping my hand up, and managing to stab him in the gut.

He roars in pain and I jump back. I can hear Tressa and Benjamin yelling at him, but I don't understand what they're saying.

Atlas swipes for my legs and I jump over the spear, kicking him in the stomach and sending him careening backwards.

"You're dead, Seven!" He spats.

He runs back at me, and I weave myself under him, appearing behind him and stabbing his thigh.

The only problem is he turns around faster than I expect him to.

I feel the pain before I can even register what has happened. I scream and fall, and next thing I know, blood is pouring out of my side, and Atlas has straddled me, ripping a knife out of my belt and pressing it on my chin.

"You had hidden skills then, huh, Seven?" He growls, pressing the blade on my next. I choke and flail my arms, trying to push him off of me in desperation.

He makes a small cut just under my chin and I half scream half sob, my whole body feeling like it's on fine. It feels like I've broken every bone in my body, although I haven't broken a single one.

Atlas chuckles malevolently, pressing the knife deeper into my neck.

"G-Get off," I choke. "Get off— off—"

"What's that, princess?" He purrs, his eyes staring into mine with pure malice. "You want me to get off? That's not happening. I'm not stepping off of you until you're dead. You don't get to fucking win this."

He's going to kill me. He's going to fucking kill me. If I don't get out right now I'll die, and Griffin will starve.

I don't know where the strength comes from but I muster it from somewhere. When he moves so he's pressing his knees just under the large stab wound he inflicted on me, I tuck my own knees in and kick up.

Atlas howls in pain. It seems I managed to nail him right where the sun doesn't shine. He flies off of me and I scramble up, stumbling as the whole world spins around me.

Atlas is starting to recover. I throw a knife wildly and hear him yell. When my eyes regain focus, I see it's nailed him in the shoulder.

I stagger backwards, turning my back to him in a desperate attempt to limp away. The ground below me keeps moving and the vision ahead is hazy. My hand presses on my wound and I wheeze.

I feel so dizzy. I hear buzzing in my ears, too.

Which is why I don't hear Benjamin warning me.

I suddenly fall, another massive wave of pain shooting through me.

I croak and turn on my side, now hyperventilating. My eyes are watering and I taste blood but I'm not sure why.

Not until I look down and see Atlas's spear lodged in my side. It seems to have barely made it through my body. Somehow the exit wound is the same one where the spear first cut me, which is almost the equivalent of rubbing salt in the wound.

"ATLAS!" I hear Tressa scream.

I turn and see Atlas is limping towards me, his side and his shoulder leaking blood onto the grass. He's walking slow, which gives me a slight advantage, but I know he's coming to retrieve my spear. And if he yanks it out, he'll cause more damage and that'll likely kill me on the spot.

I grab my axe, breathing heavily as I try to focus on the hazy outline that is Atlas heading my way.

I aim, and I throw the axe.

It's ridiculous how fast the cannon sounds. Atlas's body falls and Tressa lets out a bloodcurdling scream. She grabs a pack off the ground and sprints back to the ruins, though thankfully not down the path I came from. Benjamin looks at me like he's debating whether he should just finish me off. He then shakes his head and runs after Tressa.

He's sparing me.

I groan, feeling the need to throw up. I force myself to stand and gag, then spit out blood.

I'm going to die. I'm definitely going to die.

"MORGAN! MORGAN!"

It's Griffin. Griffin limping in with all our stuff. He drops the packs and runs to me, grabbing my arm to stop me from crashing to the ground.

"Oh no," he says, his eyes wide. "Should we...?"

"No," I say hoarsely, moaning in pain and leaning on him. "C-Can't... risk.... taking... it out..."

He then grabs one of my knives. "I'll cut the handle then— we can't leave it sticking out so far."

I don't know how he manages to stay optimistic and focused but he does, and in a clean swipe the handle of the spear falls off, which alleviates a lot of the weight I had on me.

"I don't think.... I can walk... too far," I say softly.

"Stay here," Griffin says. He grabs me around the waist and slowly carries me to lay inside the Cornucopia, out of view. He then runs back to collect our stuff.

I can tell he doesn't even want to look at me. I'm covered in blood and probably look like I'm seconds from death. He occupies himself rummaging around for first aid kits and food.

I wheeze as I watch him. He's so dedicated. I failed miserably to bring him food— I don't deserve him to be so nice to me.

Once he's gone to retrieve my weapons off of Atlas's body and has brought us food, he returns to my side.

"Okay," he says, plopping down several cans of corn and peas at my feet. "We have food. I can get us water too."

"T-Thank you," I murmur.

"I can't find any kits, though."

I wave my hand dismissively, slumping back against the Cornucopia. "It's... fine."

"No— it's not— you need help."

"Griffin... please... don't waste your energy."

"No! Morgan, you don't get to die! Not at all!"

I let out a breathy chuckle that makes me regret it, and I cough.

"I-I don't think you should worry too much," I say. "I'm.... not going to make it."

"Yes you are! Morgan please— don't just give up."

"I can't even feel my toes anymore, Griffin. I'm a lost cause."

Griffin ignores me and pours water down my throat. I choke, and struggle to swallow it.

"Don't spit it out!" He scolds, holding my neck firmly to drink.

My eyes water as I force myself to swallow. My throat is raw and probably caked in blood from the inside and outside.

"Good," Griffin says once he's forced me to down a decent amount. He sets my head down and I moan in pure pain.

Outside, the sky is darkening already. Our few hours of daylight are already up.

That's when I see it. A small hint of silver in the sky.

"What is that?" I mumble, squinting and wiping some blood off my mouth.

"A parachute!" Griffin cries. "Sponsors!"

He sprints forward excitedly and snatches the parachute out of thin air, scrambling back and dumping its contents at my feet.

"Thank you!" He gasps when he examines the two small vials that came out of it. "Thank you! Thank you! This one looks like medicine for broken bones, so it's for me!"

"I'd expect so," I say softly. "It has a bone on it."

Griffin pops it open and chugs it, then sighs. "Ah— my arm feels a lot better."

"Definitely... medicine... for broken bones," I manage, half smiling.

His excitement makes me happy.

He tosses the vial aside and holds up one that's pure red.

"Oh God," I say, my eyes widening. "Blood replenisher."

"What?" Griffin says, handing me the vial.

"We have this available for severe injuries in the hospital," I croak. "It helps..." I pause to cough "replenish lost blood."

"Oh!" He says. "Perfect for you."

He practically shoves it in my mouth and makes me drink the whole thing, which I do, despite the horrid feeling it gives me in my throat.

"That tasted awful," I mumble. But I know it helped. I feel my nausea slowly fading away.

"Is that good?" Griffin asks eagerly.

"Kind of," I say, offering him a smile. I know that'll make him feel better, to see me okay again.

He grins back at me. "Good." He looks up at the sky. "Thank you again, sponsor!"

He's so precious.

He then begins to set the tent up. As I still don't feel like I can move, I don't exactly help. Either way I feel I'd be more useless if I tried.

Griffin manages to set the whole thing up on his own with the help of his trusty rope, and prepares the quilt inside for us.

"Thank you," I say as he helps me crawl into the tent. It's weird doing that with a spear head lodged in my abdomen.

Griffin nods and examines the area as I lay down. "Oh, I remember this! Hmm. Judging by where it's at and the fact you aren't dead... I think it missed your stomach and kidneys, maybe."

"You're the expert," I say with a shrug. "I don't remember school. You'd.... be surprised how much you forget in two years of not attending."

He simply nods and fluffs part of the quilt for me to use as a pillow. I wince as I lay on my side, but feel slightly alleviated. The medicine must be working, at least to keep my other systems working.

The anthem soon begins to play, and Griffin sits beside me as the four faces of the day appear.

The first is Atlas. I see his serious expression in the picture and wince. I don't feel bad about killing him, not really.

But that doesn't change the fact he was someone's child.

Next are the two from District Eight that we killed. Apparently their names were Corbinus and Mina. They looked to both be around fourteen.

I try not to think too hard about it. They attacked us first.

Next, the two from Twelve. Sage Blanken and Saffra Dugald. They must have been the two I heard screaming before I reached the Cornucopia.

The anthem ends and the seal of the Capitol fades.

Eight people. Yesterday I was a killer of six. Now I'm a killer of eight. Eight is a third of twenty four, which means that one third of the tributes have been killed by me.

I don't feel proud of it, but someone will expect me to.

I begin to close my eyes when I hear a sniffle.

I open my eyes immediately and see that Griffin is crying.

"Hey," I say softly, patting his back. "Hey..."

"I-I killed him, Morgan," he cries softly. "I killed that boy."

"He would have killed us both," I reply as soothingly as I can muster. "You saved our lives."

"What if he had a baby sister like me? A baby sister he won't get to meet because of me?"

"Griffin.... you did what you had to do. No one will hate you for that."

"I hate myself."

"I do too. Hey... you're not as bad as me, right?"

He shakes his head. "Well, no, but... I killed him. What would my mom say?"

I wince. "I don't know, but I think she'd be proud to see how well you've been taking care of me and keeping me safe even when you don't have to. That's selfless and it's admirable."

He nods slowly and sits back. "I'll keep watch tonight," he offers. "You need to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You sleep. You stayed up all night yesterday."

"Alright. Thanks, Griffin."

He half smiles and looks off into the distance.

As much as it hurts me, I lay my head on the pillow.

My exhausted body drifts into sleep right away.

But my mind doesn't.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm standing smack in the middle of my house, or at least, the run down barn that I have, for the past seventeen years, called my house.

Everything looks normal. At least, to me.

The stove, dusty and unused, made of pine wood, in the corner beside sturdy cabinets made of spruce, which lays on the opposite side of the gap in the wall that leads to the next room.

In front of me is the dining table where I shared many meals with my family. Birthdays. Deaths. Difficult talks regarding whether I should be allowed to keep seeing Misha or not.

The door creaks open. I turn toward the noise immediately, and see Gretchen limp in.

My entire body tenses because the creature that walks in is not Gretchen. Is not my sister.

Her eyes are pure white, and her skin seems to be infected and pulled tightly around her skull. He injured leg is drenched in blood and the other in dirt and leaves.

She's a corpse.

She limps toward me and I stagger back. I feel the need to talk, but I can't. My throat has been closed, raw, made to feel unusable in this crucial moment.

Gretchen steps away from the doorway, and Devan enters behind her.

That's not Devan either. Not my brother.

His head is leaking blood and his eyes are also pure white. His clothes are ripped and muddy. And his arms are stretched toward me at an ungodly angle.

I manage to choke out a cough as they walk towards me. I back myself into a wall, my hands shaking madly. I'm expecting them to come closer and strangle me.

Part of me wishes they would. Wishes they would come and get their revenge on me for opening my stupid mouth and getting them killed. I deserve to have their disgusting, corpse-y arms wrapped around my neck and literally squeezing the life out of me.

Only they make no move in my direction at all. They simply stare at me for a moment, their bodies positioned on either side of me as if guarding me.

Their heads snap back with a horrible squishing sound to look into the doorway.

My heart stops as the door opens wider to let in a big group of people. Faces I recognize.

Daphne. She limps in, her ankle twisted at an odd angle. Her face has no skin— I can only see the muscles that wrap around her skull. Her eyeballs are completely white, and her teeth look like they're ready to fall out.

Titus and Silver from One. Unlike the glamorous persona they had at the Tribute Parade and the interviews, they're now dressed in rags. Silver's once luxurious head of hair is bald like her brother's. Her white eyes have dark rings around them like she hasn't slept in ages. Meanwhile, her brother no longer has eyes— his sockets are empty and make it seem like he's staring into a void.

Atlas limps in behind them. He's completely covered in blood, and his eyes are a wild red. He looks at me venomously, which is even scarier with the color of his eyes factored in.

Next, the girl from Three. She looks at me with pure hatred behind her white eyes. Her chest leaks blood and she looks like she wishes the same would happen to me.

Behind her, the girl from Four. She looks like she has rabies, what with the wild look she gives me. She limps forward, a sole hand of hers pointing to me as she growls.

The two from Five and the girl from Eight file in together, all holding hands. Their eyes are a collective pink, and they have crooked smiles on their face that reveal dirty, chipped teeth, with dirt pouring out of their mouths.

They assemble in a circle around me and all link hands with Gretchen and Devan.

"N-No," I choke as they begin to move in slowly. "P-Please...."

They let out a collective growl and every hair on my arm stands up.

Caged animals needing human flesh as sustenance.

"You killed us, Morgan," Gretchen says, her voice just the way I remember it. Soft. Innocent. Timid. Slightly raspy. "You killed us."

"No!" I sob, my entire body trembling. "Gretchen, Gretchen please... please I didn't mean to..."

"But you did anyway," she muses. "You opened your mouth and we died."

"Or you lifted a finger and we died," Atlas growls, licking his bloody lips before looking me up and down.

They begin to move closer to me.

I stagger back but I've only trapped myself against the stove, right at the corner of the house.

They move until they've completely blocked my path to escape.

They are going to kill me.

"Yes," the girl from Four says thoughtfully, only confirming what I already believe. "You did this to us. No one else. You. Will. Pay."

A strangled scream escapes my mouth just as they all jump at me, growing and hissing like mutts and assaulting me with their fists, feet, and teeth.

I gasp as I sit up, then scream, holding my abdomen.

"Morgan!" Griffin cries. I look wildly at him and for the first few seconds I can't even register that I'm not surrounded by all those dead people.

It felt so real...

"What?" I choke, my eyes wide and staring in every direction. Where the hell am I?

"Morgan— Morgan— you had a nightmare," Griffin says as calmly as he can, though I can see he's completely startled by my behavior.

"A what?" I rasp. "What? Where are we?"

"We're inside the tent, which is inside the Cornucopia. You're hurt, remember? Don't move so suddenly. Come on, more medicine."

He brings a vial up to my mouth and forces me to drink it, which causes me slight pain.

"Good," he says. "Now lay back."

I do, staring at the side of the tent, since I still can't lay well on my back.

Pain. All I feel is pain.

The attack felt so real...

"Let's get you some food," he says. I notice he's not wearing his sling anymore, and is moving his arm just fine.

"You're okay," I mumble.

"Yeah, I'm okay. The medicine yesterday helped."

"Has anyone died?"

"Not yet today. It's only been bright outside for about two hours and no one's been around, which I take as a good thing. Everyone's hiding and nobody's dying."

I nod, and he coaxes some corn into my mouth. "We still have corn?"

"We have peas too if you want that instead," he says, shoving the spoon in mouth to stop me from talking. "Physically, how do you feel?"

"Hungry," I say as I chew. "But this will help. Um... not lightheaded, so I guess the medicine helped. But I still feel mostly pain on my abdomen, which probably isn't good but we still can't risk removing it."

"Yep," he says. "Now mentally?"

"I-I don't know," I say. "Guilty. Sad. Angry. Hurt. I've killed eight people— eleven if you count Gretchen, Daphne, and Devan. I'm a murderess."

"It's like you told me yesterday," he says in a soft voice, "you did what you had to do to keep us alive, right?"

"I-I guess. Doesn't change the fact that I killed them."

He nods, and forces more corn into my mouth.

He doesn't want to hear what I have to say to degrade myself.

I mostly appreciate it.

Once he's left me full enough, he lays me back.

"What are we going to do today?" I say quietly.

"Well, I think we should move out of here. It's really open, not a lot of protection."

"To where, though? The ruins?"

"No. I want to check the desert. I feel there has to be a trench there somewhere. Here." He pours water into my mouth and I sigh.

"I'll go wherever you think is best," I say, already slowly sitting up.

"Thanks. I feel bad making you walk but it's not the safest idea to stay here."

"I get it," I say. I manage to stand, though my legs are weak. Griffin helps me out of the tent, and I put away our food while he folds up the tent and the quilt. Our pack now has three cans of corn, four cans of peas, the jar of red gummies, and a half full water jug.

"Alright," Griffin says as we begin to walk, though slowly because of me. "Let's think, who's left?"

I know immediately he's doing it to try and occupy my mind with something other than pain.

"Um, Tressa from Two," I say. "And Benjamin."

"Prospero from Three," Griffin adds. "Um, both from Six. Both from Nine and Eleven, and the girl from Ten."

"Ten, plus us— twelve left," I say. "Seven dead on the first day, twelve dead by the second day. We're at the halfway point and it's day three."

He nods slowly. "Yeah... well, I guess whoever wins will be out of here sooner than expected. This has got to be one of the shortest Games, right?"

"I think so. Usually they hit the halfway point at the end of the first week or something. To be honest, I've never actually paid attention. Especially not when I didn't know the people from our District. The shortest one ever has been only a week— that was the year Placidus Odinshoot won. The 10th Hunger Games."

"Really? The 10th Hunger Games were the shortest? But that was near the beginning."

"Yeah, well, remember Placidus never got along with Raff and Blight? We'd always find they were fighting? I heard it was because Raff would always brag about Placidus having the biggest kill streak in history too— he killed ten tributes. No one's ever gotten that many in one. Placidus hated it, and he didn't like Raff for bringing it up. I guess Placidus set the record for first Victor from District Seven, most kills in a single Games, and also setting the shortest Games in history."

"I can't even imagine having to live with that," Griffin says. "Every year when the people come for the Victory Tour they look pretty sad about it cause they're just regular old Victors but remember the year that girl from Four one? The crazy one? They were glorifying her for being so resourceful and being able to swim but she didn't want it."

"They always pick on people," I say. "That poor girl. I can't believe they didn't bother to get her some help."

We walk in silence for a bit after that. All this talk about killing and Victors gets me queasy. If I win, what'll they say about me? What'll they do to make me an icon? Will they do what they did to Johanna and try to make me a prostitute too? Will I be forced to give in and have to work alongside some of the worst people in the Capitol?

We enter the desert and walk the barren landscape, every now and then taking a sip of water. I feel sick but I'm not in too much pain, so I keep walking. I can't let Griffin down after everything he did for me.

We walk for a long time, looking left and right for any sign of a shelter. I can tell Griffin is really anxious about the whole thing, and is wanting to find something— and soon.

"Wait," I say, squinting and pointing to a shape ahead of us. "That looks like the ground dips, right?"

"A trench!" Griffin says. He puts his arm around me and helps me walk towards it.

Sure enough, it is a trench. He squeals as he goes in and checks it out. The trench opens into a cave that will be a perfect hideout for us.

"Stay up there, Morgan!" He says. "Let me set up the tent first."

I nod and sit down. The sand is hot underneath me, but it's not too hot that I need to get off of it. I lay back, squinting up at the sky.

I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go home. But will I even be welcomed at home? Will they want me?

They probably won't after everything I've done.

I am an outcast.

A few minutes pass before Griffin comes up, and slowly eases me to my feet. "Okay, the tent and quilt are set up. It's cool down there which should be nice for daylight but in the night we might have to try those gummies."

"Alright. Thank you."

He smiles, clearly proud of himself. He puts an arm around me and carefully leads me down the path to where the cave is.

This takes too long. Between how steep it is and how injured I am, it feels like half an hour passes before we can actually get me down there.

And when we do, it's too late.

"NO!" Griffin yells.

I flinch and have to hold onto him, my mouth having dropped open as I stare at our tent.

Rattlesnakes. Probably mutts judging from the weird hiss they make. Griffin scrambles up and yanks me with him so we're on a ridge and not anywhere near them.

But the damage is done. The group of rattlesnakes have made their home inside our tent. There have to be about twenty of them. They must have waited for Griffin to leave in order to burrow in there.

"Damn it— damn it!" Griffin says, stomping on the ground furiously.

"Griffin— Griffin," I say. "Look we still have our packs and the food—"

"I should've considered there might be some animals here!" He says, spitting angrily on the ground. "Now we don't have a tent!"

"Griffin!" I say. "Please— don't beat yourself up about it, it's not the worst thing in the world—"

He shakes his head, and grabs a pack, digging angrily inside it. He extracts a can of corn and pops it open, and sits, eating angrily.

I cautiously scoot closer to him and take a can of peas, opening it and beginning to eat.

Food is comforting.

"Griffin please," I say after a long silence. "It's okay—"

"No it's not. I'm a failure. I made us walk all the way over here when you're hurt and I couldn't even make sure we had a proper place to stay."

"Griffin don't be ridiculous you aren't a failure. You were thinking about how to keep us safe, that doesn't make you a failure."

"Well I didn't do it right!" He snaps, facing away from me. "I can't even be useful enough to make us a good place to stay."

"Griffin you couldn't have known there would be rattlesnakes—"

"I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!" He yells angrily. "I should have expected it!"

"We've never seen rattlesnakes in person, Griffin, we just know they exist from school— how would you expect yourself to know about them?"

He just mutters a few curses under his breath and crosses his arms, looking away.

He doesn't talk for awhile after that, which is sincerely aggravating.

"Griffin come on," I coax. "Please—"

"No."

"Talk to me."

"No."

"Please!"

"No."

"Gri—"

"Morgan, I said NO."

I end up sighing in defeat and scooting away from him.

The sun is beginning to set already. It seems Griffin let me sleep a lot more in the morning, which might explain why daylight is fading so quickly.

"I'm going to the Cornucopia," Griffin says at last, standing up and grabbing his spear.

"What for?" I inquire.

"See if there's another tent or something."

"Can I come with—"

"No."

He doesn't even look at me as he steps away. I sigh, putting my head in my hands.

Griffin is starting to lose it. And I understand the feeling. It's godawful seeing your efforts take you nowhere. I know exactly how it is— it would happen all the time back home when all my work would still not be enough to get Gretchen her surgery. Devan and I were always devastated at the end of the month. How were we supposed to tell Gretchen that we hadn't met our savings goal again because of all the other costs?

Now, I will never get that worry again. I took it for granted, all the work— all so my little sister could one day walk normally like she used to.

Now she'd never walk again.

A sudden yell makes me sit up.

I squint in the direction of the Cornucopia and my eyes widen.

"GRIFFIN!" I scream.

I force myself up, and ignoring the flaring pain in my abdomen, begin to run.

No, he's not going to die on me. It won't happen.

As I grow closer I see the boy that Griffin is wrestling with is in fact Prospero from District Three.

"MORGAN! MORGAN! HELP!" Griffin yells. He's struggling. His spear is about five feet away from him, and Prospero may not have a weapon but he's a lot bigger than Griffin and he's got a chokehold on him.

I stagger forward as fast as I can, already fumbling for a knife in my belt.

Then I scream. Because I'm too late.

Prospero yanks Griffin's spear off the ground and in one swift move, stabs it into his chest.

I throw the knife. God, if I'd just thrown it a second sooner.

A cannon sounds immediately, but it's Prospero's, not Griffin's.

"GRIFFIN!" I scream. I collapse beside him and pull him into my lap, holding back a scream of pain as I feel the spearhead still stuck inside me moving around.

"M-Morgan," he chokes, spitting blood out of his mouth.

I brush some stray hair out of his face. His eyes are wild, in pain. His chest is leaking blood like a faucet.

"Morgan," he says again, reaching to grab my face.

"Griffin," I say softly, holding his head in my hands. "Oh Griffin... I'm so sorry— I was trying to get you home..."

I failed him.

He shakes his head. "It's... okay." He begins to cry, and I have to swallow back tears.

"P-Please," he says, closing his eyes. "P-Please t-tell my m-mom and d-dad that I l-love them... and p-please tell... my sister... when she's born... that I... know she's... going to be... someone, someday." He winces in pain and I nod.

"I promise," I whisper, feeling myself beginning to tear up. "Griffin, I promise."

He smiles, spitting out more blood. "G-Good... good... good..."

His body goes limp, his eyes closing. I let out a loud sob as the cannon explodes.

With shaky hands I bring his body up to hug him, and cry into his shoulder as I hold him.

I fucking failed him. I was supposed to keep him alive and I didn't.

"G-Griffin," I mumble, rubbing his back. "G-Griffin I'm so sorry.. so sorry...."

I hear the helicopter overhead and know I'll be forced to move.

I hate this. I get no time to grieve the loss of the friend I just made, the little brother I'd just adopted, the kid who protected me and deserved to win.

I am useless.

I kiss Griffin's forehead after debating whether or not I should leave his side. But I have to. I can't watch them take him away, not from up close.

"You r-rest now," I say softly. "You never... ever have to have another Hunger Games."

I slowly get up, limping away. I only slightly look at Prospero's body, with the knife sticking out of his skull.

I kick him for good measure.

I enter the Cornucopia, and holding my side, I sit, watching as the claw descends to pick up their bodies.

I can't even begin to imagine what Mayor Allardyce and his wife are feeling at home.

When the helicopter disappears I let out another sob. I don't want to do this anymore. I wanted to make sure Griffin got out and I failed miserably. I don't deserve to be alive. I've killed nine people in the arena now— nine. Gretchen, Devan, and Daphne make it eleven, because it's my fault they're dead. All my fault. Griffin was innocent, and he deserved to make it out.

But now he will only return home in a wooden box.

"Oh G-God," I cry, covering my face. I can feel my abdomen burning— I know I must be bleeding inside now because the spearhead moved. But I don't care. Maybe I should let myself bleed.

I'm so wound up in emotions that I don't notice people coming closer to me until they're right in front of me.

I look up, and see four tributes. The two from Six and Eleven seem to be working together. They freeze when they see me. I make no move to hurt them, and simply slump back.

"Is she not going to do anything?" the girl from Six asks her District partner.

"No," I say hoarsely. "I'm not."

The boy from Eleven looks around before picking up Griffin's fallen spear, which lays nearby him. It seems the claw left it behind when they picked up his body.

I know the boy probably just wants a weapon, and he probably wasn't even intending to hurt me, but something about him holding Griffin's spear, the spear that is coated in Griffin's blood, makes me snap— makes me feel so unbelievably angry that in an instant I've stood up and brought a knife into my palm and thrown it at the boy from Eleven.

His fellow tributes scream, and begin to run. But they aren't fast enough. I'm crying as I throw more knives and my last axe, leaving them all sprawled on the ground, bleeding.

A cannon. Another cannon. A third. A fourth.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

I break down sobbing again, and collapse on the ground, crying out loudly in pain as I make the spearhead slam further into me. I must be bleeding a lot more now— all my organs might be caked in blood.

I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be in this world where Griffin isn't, I don't want to have to win and find there will be no one waiting for me.

Gretchen, Devan, and Daphne definitely won't be there to greet me.

Misha could be dead or alive. God, I miss him. I'm an idiot. I should have told him I loved him. I don't even think I knew it properly until now but what I felt for him, that was love and I took it for granted.

I should have made sure he knew he was more than just someone I occasionally slept with— he was my best friend and I loved him.

Everyone in my district would have much rather seen Griffin come home. No one will want me back. I'm nobody.

The sun finishes setting. I don't move. I know my food and water is back in the desert. But I can't see in the dark. I won't be able to find it again. And either way, my entire body is throbbing painfully. I doubt I can move.

I have in mind to just stay there the whole night.

That is until I start to shiver.

Right away, I know something is wrong. Either with me or the weather— I don't know. But it's never been that cold at night. I can't possibly be hallucinating this feeling.

The Gamemakers must have switched it up on us.

Damn it. Damn it. This makes me have to get up. The red gummies can come in handy.

But do I want to get them? I hardly even want to be alive anymore. I'm probably going to die tonight anyway from internal bleeding. Is it worth it?

Right away, Griffin's voice appears in my head.

"Don't be silly, Morgan," he says. "One of us has to win. You can't just let yourself die."

I whine softly. Grabbing onto the weapon racks, I pull myself to my feet.

I don't know how I manage to walk, but I do. The moonlight is my only guide into the dark desert and back to wherever my pack is.

As I'm walking, I stop crying at last. I can't let myself be held back. I simply can't. I have to make it out— tell Griffin's parents what I promised I'd tell them. I have to make it out for him.

I don't know how long it takes me to walk, but it feels forever. In that time, I hear loud screaming in the distance. I ignore it, but the screaming persists. At one point, the cannon fires three times.

I don't think of it. Whoever just died doesn't matter to me.

A little while after, the anthem begins to play. I stop, catching my breath, and look up at the sky.

Prospero. I don't even feel bad when I see it. He deserved it.

The two from Six. Crucis and Librae. Probably around sixteen, both of them. No, I refuse to feel sad.

The two from Nine must have been two of the people the cannon just exploded for. I don't know how they died, nor do I care.

The girl from Ten. I distinctly remember it was her district partner who got blown up on the first day. She must have been the third cannon— probably was with the two kids from Nine. She looked to he about fourteen as well.

The two from Eleven. Jago and Dorothea. Fifteen and fourteen, most likely. I don't feel sadness for them either.

The anthem ends and the Capitol seal disappears.

I'm a murderess. Now, I have killed thirteen people. Thirteen. I'm reminded of Griffin and I's conversation earlier. Placidus Odinshoot's kill record was ten.

If that really was never passed then I've just broken the record.

I suddenly trip, and let out a scream. I fall flat on my face and choke, the ground slamming against my stomach.The spearhead rips through my body, and I feel it exit the way it came in and clatter on the ground beside me.

I feel blood leaking out of me. Gasping in pain, I feel wildly around me.

I tripped on my own pack. What's more, I almost tripped into the trench. I would have fallen into the cave and the rattlesnakes would have had me then.

I whimper and moan in pain, unable to move my body. My shaky hands reach for the pack and dig madly inside of it. The first thing I do is chug down the last bit of medicine I have for my injury. I croak, feeling slight relief, though not a lot. But even that is something.

I then dig around wildly for the gummies. I'm freezing now— my body is shaking and I know it's not from the pain, but actually the cold.

I grab a handful and throw them in my mouth.

As I chew I feel my mouth is burning. I cry out in pain but don't spit them out.

The next sensation is calming. I sigh, feeling my body is nicely warmed. The pain from my stab wound is also fading away.

I know tomorrow I'll have to deal with the two remaining tributes other than myself— Tressa and Benjamin.

I can't die. I need to tell Griffin's family what I promised.

And I need to make sure Tressa dies. Painfully.


	8. Chapter 8

I'm in my house again.

All is the same. The stove, the cabinet, the table, the entrance to the other room.

The door that lies behind me is closed. I walk forward, through the kitchen and into the next room, which was once the living room where my father taught me to tie my shoelaces. Where Devan and I held our baby sister when she first came home. Where we held a funeral for my parents.

The same.

I decide to walk around, and head through to my room, and see if everything is the same there.

It is. My small bed, with a thin mattress that once belonged to my brother, but later went to my sister and I to share because it was more comfortable.

The shed where my entire family would take their showers.

The small nightstand where I had only a small notebook, and a few marbles I won back when I was still in school and we competed at recess.

The floor is just as dusty as it has always been. My footsteps leave marks all over it, showing I am currently inside the room investigating every inch of it.

I sigh, and walk back to the living room. There is nothing for me here. Perhaps I can go out into the town, and see if anything else is there for me.

I don't want to step foot in here again.

I walk back through the kitchen and straight to the door, my hand desperately grasping the doorknob and turning it for my sweet escape.

The only problem is the door doesn't open.

I furrow my eyebrows and give the door a good shake before yanking the doorknob again.

It won't budge.

I'm starting to panic. I kick at the door and it does nothing. It's almost as solid as stone. The impact hurts my foot and I wince.

Stupid door.

I grab the nearest thing— a chair— and slam it against the door. I don't know why I do it, I know in essence it won't actually do anything. But I suppose anything is worth a try.

"You can't get out."

I turn, and my eyes widen as I watch Misha walk towards me.

He looks perfectly normal— in fact he's wearing what he had on the day of the Reaping. His eyes look as sad yet pensive as they always do, and his lips well... appealing.

"Misha," I say softly. "Why... why not?"

He has to know something.

He comes forward, and for a minute I think he might simply talk to me, until he abruptly grabs my wrists, pinning then on either side of my head and slamming me against the door, his face inches from mine.

That was how it'd started. The memory hits me immediately.  
  


_He'd been walking me home from work that day— or evening, I should say. We were talking, and I'd begun to tease him._

_"It's hard to pull so many planks," he sighed, massaging his arms._

_"Aw poor Misha," I said. "Well something has to make up for the hardness you lack."_

_When I think back to it, it didn't really make sense. I'd been meaning to say he was too weak and the planks had served the purpose of making him stronger— physically and emotionally._

_But he'd taken it a different way._

_He raised his eyebrows. "You don't know anything about what's hard on me, Reeves," he said, a playful grin on his face._

_"I do know it's not very good," I said. "Not satisfactory."_

_Now we'd been flirting for a few days before that, and it was clear we both found the other attractive, but we'd never exactly said anything about it._

_He'd grabbed me swiftly by the wrists and pinned me to the nearest wall, which was his house, five doors from mine._

_My breath hitched, and I looked up at him. His eyes were dark but not in an evil way, moreso a lustful way. His body was pressed onto mine, radiating heat._

_"You have evidence to support that, Reeves?" He said in a low, husky voice. It made my knees wobble, and I gulped._

_"N-Not exactly," I managed, feeling my cheeks redden._

_"Exactly."_

_He'd kissed me, and I'd kissed back, and somehow we'd ended up inside his house and somehow we'd ended up wearing absolutely nothing. It'd been an experience I could hardly describe. But it wasn't bad. It was far from bad._

_We never discussed it after that. I'd gone home, and we'd just ended up doing it practically every Friday after late night shifts. Devan and Daphne had found out about it after catching us one night (which was very awkward) and Gretchen had never known._   
  


Misha keeps his hands on my wrists, but he doesn't seem like he's about to kiss me. He looks like he wants to kill me.

"M-Misha," I choke, gulping as I see his lips trembling angry, and his eyes darkening with every passing second.

"What is it, Morgan?" He growls, snapping his hips forward to pin me further, knowing I can't possibly escape his hold now. "You don't like this anymore?"

"T-This isn't you," I stammer. "You're not Misha..."

"But you called me Misha, didn't you? How do you know what's real?"

He's right. I don't."

"Please just let me go.... I'll do anything."

He chuckles darkly, and the sound makes my skin crawl in pure fear. "Your begging doesn't work here, Morgan. Maybe in the past you used it when you wanted me the way I always wanted you, but this is not that."

"Let me leave," I say, my voice trembling. "Misha please—"

"You can't leave because you're a murderess," he growls, digging his knee against my thigh. "And today's your execution."

"No!" I scream, my eyes widening. "No— you can't—"

He picks me up and I kick him, screaming for help. But he doesn't release me. His grip is like steel, and he's holding me so tightly that after awhile I can't breathe nor kick him properly anymore, and my only alternative is to gasp for air while he carries me down the long path to the square in front of the Justice Building, where the crowd gathered consists of Devan, Daphne, and Gretchen, along with the thirteen tributes I have killed thus far.

The executioner is Griffin.

"No!" I scream as Misha throws me down on the floor. He kicks me in the face and I spit out blood and a tooth immediately, unable to retaliate as he yanks me up by the hair and drags me closer to the guillotine that's been set up for my use and my use only.

"Misha!" I sob. "Misha please, please let me go—"

"No mercy," he snarls, throwing me roughly onto the machine and fastening me to it so I can't move. He's forced me into it facing up, which is not only highly uncomfortable but also making me panic more.

I will see the blade coming down to kill me.

"Please.... please...." I'm choking on my own blood now, as it's unable to exit my mouth properly due to my orientation on the machine. "Misha... Griffin..."

Griffin moves forward to look at me, and simply shakes his head.

"Griffin please!" I sob. "I'm sorry!"

The last thing I hear is the blade being released.

I wake with a start, gasping loudly.

I squint immediately as I catch my breath. The blazing sun has risen, and I'm still in the middle of the desert in a pool of my own blood, in the same position I was in when I went sprawling over my bag.

"M-Misha," I choke out, breathing heavily. But Misha isn't there, and neither is anyone else.

I slowly calm down.

It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

I'm about to move when I hear voices.

"Is that her?"

"Obviously. Jesus there's blood all around her. She's probably dying slowly."

Benjamin and Tressa. Crap.

I lay completely still. They must have known I was the last one left in the Games.

It's me versus two Careers. That's it.

I feel them come closer, and remain as still as possible. I doubt they'll stab me if they see I'm in too much pain. They'll likely assume I'm dying and leave me to it.

I feel a kick and let out a gasp.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Benjamin snarls. I deduce Tressa was the one that kicked me.

A hand grips my hair and I moan in pain as I'm flipped onto my back.

"Holy fuck," Benjamin says. "That blood is still from the injury Atlas left her. How isn't she dead?"

"Don't know," Tressa says, looking beyond pleased. I suppose she expected me to kill her and now she thinks she's got me. "Why don't we finish her off?"

I look weakly up at them. I feel dizzy, very dizzy. A bit stronger, but still very weak. If I'm given a few more seconds to recover, I might be able to sit up and get a knife and throw it at both of them.

"She's going to die already," Benjamin mutters, stepping away from me. "There's no point, Tressa."

"Excuse me?" She snaps. I'm guessing she expected him to support her decision. "This bitch has killed THIRTEEN PEOPLE! I've got one, that idiot girl from Ten who lit a fire when it got cold and led us to her and her little friends!"

"Are you still mad I killed the kids from Nine instead of leaving them to you?" Benjamin growls back. "Don't be an idiot, Tressa, it doesn't matter how many people you kill, it matters who wins!"

"YES IT DOES!" She screams. She sounds like she's going insane. "This bitch has thirteen! THAT ISN'T FAIR!"

Of course the one from Two makes a problem about not getting to kill many people.

I let out a breathy laugh, though it makes me cough. God, my side hurts. "Really, Tressa?" I say between coughs. "If you were that scared of me you probably never had the balls to kill anyone other than the girl from Ten."

Benjamin's lip twitches, and Tressa looks furious. She turns to Benjamin as if to ask 'what've you got to say about this?'

"Tressa she's going to die on her own, why waste your time?" Benjamin mutters, reaching for his knife ever so slowly. Oh God, he's either going to kill me now or Tressa.

Tressa notices his movement. With blinding speed she whips out her knife and stabs into his chest, twisting it around. I gasp in shock as the cannon sounds, and Benjamin's body falls alongside mine.

His eyes are wide open, staring at me.

Now she's going to fucking finish me off.

But I can't move. I'm in so much pain, I literally can't move.

Tressa lets out a malicious chuckle and leisurely makes her way toward me. She abruptly straddles me, her legs pressing hard on my abdomen, which makes me cry out in pain. She smears the blood from the knife onto my cheeks.

"You really thought you were going to win, didn't you?" She snarls, the now cleaner blade moving to rest on my neck. "News flash, Seven, you're a loser. From a loser District. You don't get to steal my crown."

"Your crown?" I manage, though my brain is in panic mode. "You killed one person. You don't deserve to win this."

This hits a nerve. Her eyes almost glow green with malice, and she presses her knife down.

I scream as she begins to cut a thin vertical line across my neck. I twitch beneath her. So, so much pain. But I have to move, I have to.

I'm screaming as she continues, laughing mercilessly as she watches me fight desperately against her.

If I don't move now, I'll die for sure.

"P-Please," Griffin had told me, as he was closing his eyes. "P-Please t-tell my m-mom and d-dad that I l-love them... and p-please tell... my sister... when she's born... that I... know she's... going to be... someone, someday."

I have to make it back. I have to tell his family what he said to their faces.

I find the strength to move just as she's about to finish me off, as if some part of my potential has abruptly been activated.

She raises her arm, and I thrust my pelvis upward while bending one knee, then kicking back. Tressa screams as she flies off, almost going into the trench with the rattlesnakes. She throws her knife but by then I'm already pinning her down, and the knife flies harmlessly into the cracked sand behind me.

She looks afraid. Her eyes are widened in fear. Now she is weaponless and I've retrieved my last knife from my belt.

"Please," she chokes. "Have mercy."

I laugh. And it's a cruel laugh, similar to the one she had when she was cutting me. As I laugh, the blood on my neck drips onto her throat, and I see she's completely panicking now.

"No, you know what, I won't have mercy," I snarl. I feel myself completely filled with hatred for her. For eavesdropping and revealing the information she did when she had no right. For killing Benjamin just like that. "You— you fucking ruined everything for me. You got my family killed. And you know what I'm going to do? Make you pay for it."

She screams as I begin to cut lines all over her face, neck, and arms. She's so paralyzed in fear she isn't even fighting back against me.

I hate her. And this is her fault. I don't know what's happening to me but seeing her writhing beneath me in pain is something I'm enjoying.

I'm a fucking murderess and I refuse to cry about it anymore.

"This is your fault," I snarl as she stops screaming and begins to cry instead. "This is what you did to me. You were jealous I killed so many people? Why, because you didn't have the balls to do it to more than one person? You broke me, and now you're going to pay for it. You sealed your fate the moment you went and blabbed to Enobaria about my family. Cause you know what, Tressa? You deserve this pain. You deserve it."

I scoot off of her, and raise my knife. "This is for my sister," I say, plunging the knife in her side. She screams loudly, desperately trying to throw me off. But she can't. "For my brother." I stab her again. "Daphne." Again. "And.... for the thirteen tributes I killed after you fucking turned me into this."

I stab her. Once for every tribute. Once for Silver. Titus. Atlas. Prospero. The girl from Three. Valora.

After I finish my stab for Valora, the cannon sounds. Tressa is finally dead.

But I don't stop. I keep stabbing. I'm sobbing loudly, and the knife weighs a ton in my hands now but I can't let go of it, I can't stop stabbing her. For the two kids from Five. The two kids from Six. The girl from Eight. The two from Eleven.

And the fourteenth I give it straight in her face. For herself. Tressa.

By the time the knife falls out of my hand it feels like a weight has been removed from my shoulders.

I let out a strangled sob and collapse backwards, holding my side which has been burning since I pinned Tressa down. I'm dizzy, I'm feeling faint. Maybe now I'll die. Maybe now I'll feel at peace.

I can't stop crying.

I am nothing but a murderess.

The hovercraft materializes overhead and a ladder drops down. I can only see its hazy outline. I can't move toward it.

They figure that out soon enough. One of the people there, I'm not sure who, has to come down and carry me up. The electric current freezes us in place. I suppose this is a good thing for them because I want to throw myself off.

The minute the door closes I slump on the floor. Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. I'm lifted onto a silver table and strapped down, multiple wires and tubes going into me. All I can do is moan in pain, my face completely dry and stiff from all the tears.

Some machines begin to beep, and a doctor presses a mask over my face. I moan as I suck in a strangely strawberry scented air.

My eyes close. In an instant, I've been put to sleep.

"Morgan."

I open my eyes again and jump.

Misha is in front of me again. But this time he doesn't look like he wants to kill me.

"Misha," I say softly.

He comes closer. I realize this is a dream. But I don't mind. Anything that'll let me see Misha again is good.

I'm standing in the forests back home. Misha and I are in a nice clearing, standing right in the middle of it, surrounded by protective trees in our familiar boxed area, with the sound of birds all around us.

"So, you're coming home," he says quietly.

"I am," I mumble. "Will you be there?"

He looks away.

"You won't," I say softly, even though I knew the answer before I even asked the question.

"I don't know where I am," he says. "No one does."

"Are... you dead?"

"I don't know. I think so."

I sigh, looking down.

He puts his hands on my shoulders. I look up, and he presses his forehead on mine.  
  


" _What is this turning into?"_

_The last time Misha and I stood like this, foreheads connected, was about a month before the Reaping._

_"What is this turning into?" He asked. We were standing in the darkness of his room, completely vulnerable to each other. His hands caressed my body like he was afraid he'd lose it. I had my hands pressed against his chest, mostly just so keep him from getting too close, though feeling his muscles wasn't a bad feeling._

_"I don't know," I said, looking directly into his eyes. They held a mixture of confusion, sadness, and an odd tranquility._

_"Me neither," he mumbled._

_"I-I don't know how far I want this to go," I said softly, biting my lip. "Can we just... stay friends?"_

_"No more of this, then?" He asked quietly, his eyes scanning up my naked figure as if he understood this might be the last time I'd let him see me like this._

_"M-Maybe," I admitted. "But just... no attachments. I'm not ready for it."_

_"I understand," he said. Then he tilted his head down and kissed me._   
  


Misha strokes my cheeks. "I loved you," he whispers. "I loved you so much. And I'm going to miss you."

I begin to cry. This dream is too real. Too hurtful.

I loved Misha. In what way I'm not sure, but I did love him, at least as a friend.

I never told him. And I can't tell him now.

But I have to.

"I loved you too," I mumble. "But... that was..."

"Never romantically," he finishes for me, stepping away. "It's fine, Morgan. I knew it. That's that."

"Misha... Misha wait—"

But by then he's turned, and all I can see of him is his departing figure as he exits the forest.

That's the last thing I see before the dream dissolves.

____________

When I wake, I'm afraid to move at first. The entire ceiling glows with a soft yellow light, allowing me to see that I'm in a room with just the bed I'm laying on. No doors, no windows are visible. The air smells of something sharp and antiseptic.

My right arm has several tubes that extend into the wall behind me. I'm naked, but the bed cloths are soothing against my skin. I tentatively lift my left hand above the cover. I find this doesn't cause me pain. I see my nails have been fixed, the dirt has been scrubbed clean off of me. I feel my neck and find there are no marks indicating Tressa had tortured me. I feel under the covers around my abdomen and find only a small part of my skin is evidence of me ever having a spear stuck inside me.

I try and sit up, but gasp softly. I can't. Some sort of wide restraining band around my waist keeps me from rising more than a few inches.

The physical confinement makes me slip into a panic. I try desperately to pull myself out— to wriggle my hips through the band.

The door opens and I see a blonde Avox boy enter. He comes closer and sets a tray beside me. He then presses something that sets me in a sitting position, and hands me the spoon.

"Thank you," I say, my voice unnaturally soft. He nods and walks out.

The tray holds a bowl of clear broth, a small serving of applesauce, and a glass of water.

Hospital food. I guess I must be in bad shape if I have to eat this.

My theory is right. I begin to eat and find it takes me a lot of effort to even finish the brother. Mg stomach feels so sensitive as I drop food into it. Maybe the spear did hurt my stomach.

There's usually a lag of a few days between the end of the competition and the presentation of the victor so that they can put the starving, wounded, mess of a person back together again. In my case I'm just really wounded, not necessarily starving. This has been the shortest Games. I'm now the victor with the most kills ever. I'll be interviewed so much my head will spin.

Somewhere, Griz and maybe Gliese will be making a wardrobe for me to use during all the public appearances I'll have. Because after this there will be speeches everywhere— the Victory Tour that I am beginning to dread with every ounce of my being.

Rupalia, Johanna, and Blight will be arranging the banquet for my sponsors. I guess I must have had one after they sent the medicine. They'll also be reviewing the questions for my final interviews.

Back home, well, I'm not sure what to expect. The District is supposed to be starting work on organizing my homecoming celebration. Two years ago, Johanna's was decent, though it sucked because they killed her family right after.

Will they even bother making a celebration for me? I couldn't even save Griffin. I got my family killed. I killed fourteen kids mercilessly. Why would they celebrate me being home?

I want to get out of this godforsaken bed. I want to see Griz, and Gliese, and Blight, and Johanna, and Rupalia. They're my only comfort left. Outside of here, I have no one.

The next few days are awful. I'm put to sleep, woken up to eat, then put to sleep until my next meal. I see my scar from the spear disappearing slowly as the days pass. But so far, I haven't seen any familiar faces.

One morning, I wake up without the wires and tubes in my right arm. The restraint around my waist has been removed.

I slowly get up, sighing in pleasure as I'm able to walk without a single ounce of pain. I shake my legs out, and crack my neck. Soothing.

I'm feeling better physically, and even mentally. They must have given me medicine for that too, because it takes me a moment to remember why I ever felt sad. Then it comes back to me. My family. The fourteen tributes. Griffin.

I wince. I can remember what's happened but I don't find myself getting emotional over it.

They've numbed me.

At the foot of my bed lays the outfit I wore in the arena, now cleaned and fixed. I feel weird putting it on, and even the sight of it makes me flinch. But I know this is what I'll be greeting my prep team with.

I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where I know there's a door even if I can't see it when it suddenly slides open. I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. But it must.

"Hello?" I say, looking around.

I hear movement behind me.

"Morgan!"

I whip around, and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall— Rupalia, Johanna, Blight, Griz, and Gliese.

My feet take off without hesitation. I should probably have more restraint. More self control. I'm a victor now. Plus, I've killed fourteen people.

But I don't. I throw my arms around Blight, who's nearest me, and begin to cry. All my emotions pour out, and he rubs my back as I leave his shirt drenched.

"It's okay," he says in my ear. "It's okay."

"I'm so sorry," I sob, burying my face in his shoulder. "I'm so sorry about G-Griffin—"

"Sweetheart it's not your fault—"

"I could have done something— anything—"

"No, no..." I feel Johanna wrapping her arms around me, then the others join into the group hug. I'm literally being smothered but I don't care— this is probably the last time I will ever feel loved at all.

"Now come on," Griz says, yanking me out after a short while. "Gliese and I must get you ready."

"Alright," I say. I think he can tell I'm wondering why Gliese is joining us when she was never officially my stylist, because he says "Gliese insists she wants to do your hair."

They lead me away, their protective arms wrapped around me as they guide me away from the cameras that must have been hidden there, down a few passages and to an elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center.

The hospital is then far underground, even beneath the gym where the tributes practiced tying knots and throwing spears. The windows of the lobby are darkened, and a handful of guards stand on duty.

No one else is there to see us cross to the tribute elevator. Our footsteps echo in the emptiness. And when we ride up to the seventh floor, the faces of all the tributes who will never return flash across my mind. And fourteen of them are because of me, and me only.

When the elevator doors open, Winnow, Savera, and Zenobia engulf me, talking so quickly and ecstatically I can't even make out their words. The sentiment is clear though. They are truly thrilled to see me and I'm happy to see them, too, although not like I was to see Griz and Gliese and especially not as thrilled as I was to see Johanna and Blight. It's more in the way one might be glad to see an affectionate trio of pers at the end of a particularly difficult day.

They sweep me into the dining room and I get a real meal— roast beef and peas and soft rolls. It seems I'm not allowed to get seconds, according to Savera, who slaps an extra roll out of my hand.

We go back to my room and Griz and Gliese disappear for awhile as my prep team gets me ready.

"You're completely polished," Zenobia gasps. "Not a single flaw left on your skin."

"Except it's not tan enough," I joke, which makes them laugh— but what I said is just to distract myself from the fact that I'm unbelievably skinny now. It would look attractive hidden behind a dress, but in my naked state it's scary.

The prep team takes care of the shower settings for me, and they go to work on my hair, nails, and makeup when I'm done. I don't really talk, and it seems fine by them cause they prefer to talk to each other. I can distinctly hear their excitement at discussing how I'd killed all those people. It makes me really uncomfortable.

Because to them I'm a legend.

To myself and the families of those children, I'll be nothing but a murderess.


	9. Chapter 9

We take the elevator to the level where I trained once we're all ready to go.

This is it. My skin starts to crawl again. Everyone will see my face again out in the open after the long while (I lost track of how long it was) that I was being put back together from my injured state.

In a few moments I will be presented back to the Capitol and all the citizens of Panem as the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games, and that will be that.

I've won now. One of the hardest parts is over.

One.

I know next will be the return. Having to see the people in my district's faces when I, the traitor, who couldn't save Griffin, comes home with the Capitol expecting their glorification of me as some sort of savior.

District Seven will be rewarded with food beyond belief because of my victory.

But it won't stop them from despising me. That much, I can sense.

For the presentation to Panem, it's customary for the victor and his or her support tram to rise from beneath the stage.

First the prep team. I'm guessing Savera, Zenobia, and Winnow will have outfits that are too Capitolian for my tastes. They don't understand how much this has affected me. To them this is, as it is every year, a show. That's how they were raised. I don't blame them, I guess.

Next, the escort. Rupalia (thank God she still hasn't started bedazzling herself the way the others do) will be dressed simply but in a very powerful way, I know it. She's proud. She's brought three Victors since she started— Blight, Johanna, and I. From a lesser district, that's an accomplishment. But then again, that's what she's been taught. She has to take pride in that.

The stylist. Griz will be the only one coming up, as Gliese was never technically my stylist. He'll probably look really good— he always does. Simple in a sense, but very good. I mean he has to, as a stylist. How could a stylist who makes excellent outfits (well, what I wore to the tribute parade was definitely not Griz's best work) not dress nicely to reflect his handiwork?

The mentor. Johanna and Blight technically both mentored me, but officially my only mentor was Johanna. She told me earlier how much she hates having to do this but she's proud of me nevertheless. She's going to have to dress nice, which she hates, but I saw the dress Griz made for her— completely covering her arms and chest, skin tight satin. Emerald, because that's apparently become the color to represent me.

Of course, my dress won't be emerald this time, but it's still my color, hence the dress from the interview and Johanna's dress.

Me. Griz has made a dress that is a rare color— like an ocean surrounded by trees, the perfect mixture of sea and forest, a blue not too sky, and a green not too pine, but a perfect sea green mixture that reflects light in a way that did not require a single sequin, which I am thankful for. It's completely strapless, with a very scandalous V to show off the meat I've somehow grown back in my breasts. The entire back is open, though over it is a sort of thin silver netting material that's part of the dress, which traces over every back muscle and makes it stand out. The dress falls to my feet, tight down my thighs to show off every curve I have.

Over my head, an ancient Greek sort of laurel wreath, though Griz's talented hands have managed to include a mix of leaves from the different types of trees in Seven, making an artistic crown that fades from shades of yellow to green, which surprisingly compliments the dress, and in turn my eyes, very well.

I feel beautiful. But only because of the dress.

I'm a sick person. That's not beautiful.

The damp, moldy smell beneath the stage threatens to choke me. Somehow, I wish it would. I'm a dirty, cruel victor that doesn't deserve praise or celebration for committing murder.

A cold, clammy sweat breaks out on my skin and I can't rid myself of the feeling that the boards above my head are about to collapse and bury me alive under the rubble. Part of me wants it to, because then I won't have to face Panem.

But the Capitol would never let it happen. I've broken records. I've been their weapon, their pawn in reminding Panem of the brutality and reason behind the Hunger Games. I have helped the Capitol punish innocent children and families and have caused them pain.

Pain that will keep down any rebellion.

The anthem suddenly booms in my ear and I jump.

I'm not ready for this.

I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. They are wild with excitement. They want more than anything to see me already, but they'll have to wait.

The prep teams are introduced. I can just imagine them— Savera waving like the Queen of a small country. Winnow probably giggling. Zenobia walking poised but secretly as excited as Winnow. They'll enjoy this forever.

Then Rupalia is introduced. She must be enjoying this the second time around in only three years. She might not show it but it must be a dream come true for her. She had to wait quite awhile before Johanna won after Blight. That's an accomplishment for her.

Then Griz. The crowd cheers loudly, and I can bet money that he's blowing kisses or something. I could forgive him for it. Somehow, I know Griz doesn't get how much I hate this either, even though he has sympathized with me and tailored to my likes. I still appreciate him.

Johanna. The crowd is even louder for her. How she managed to pull off another trick on everyone with me. How smartly she trained me in private so the tributes assumed I might trick them like she did her year, but later decided that couldn't be the case because I was so useless. She'll get a lot of admiration for that.

I feel the plate lifting me onto the stage. What else is left to do but smile?

Blinding lights. God, it's completely overwhelming. I think I might need eye surgery after this is over.

The defeaning roar of the crowd rattles the metal under my feet. I walk out, blushing and giggling and waving like I'm supposed to, even though I'm immediately triggered to want to run, to hide, to scream. The crowd is yelling, blowing kisses. I'm catching them and even blowing some back even though I'd much rather be throwing up in a trashcan back in my dorm, or anywhere, really. I go and sit on the victor's chair, across from Caesar.

He takes my hand and kisses it, and the hand goes wild, but settles quickly in order for the program to start properly.

Caesar makes a few more jokes, and I laugh respectfully, and then it's time for the show. This will last exactly three hours and is a required viewing for all of Panem. As the lights dim and the seal appears on the screen, I start to panic.

I'm going to have to watch my twenty three fellow tributes die all over again. I witnessed sixteen of those deaths. I caused fourteen of them.

No, no, I don't want to see this. I don't want to be reminded of what I did. My heart is pounding, and I want to run. How have other victors not run away during this? How have they been able to watch what they did?

But then I remember. I'm setting a record for being the killer of the century. The most ever tributes dead at my hand. I did that to them. I have to see it.

The first half hour or so of this show focused on the pre arena events. The reaping of all the tributes, and especially a shot of Gretchen being dragged back by Devan. The chariot ride through the Capitol and everyone's outfits again. Our training scores, with emphasis on how I fooled everyone. Our interviews, and a close up of my face upon finding out my family was dead.

There's a sort of upbeat soundtrack under it that makes me want to throw up all over again, and I'm surprised I can keep the vomit down. Everyone on that screen that's a tribute is dead now except for me.

Once we're in the arena, there's a detailed coverage of the bloodbath.

Slowly the faces come up— the scenes of those I killed at the Cornucopia. My reaction.

As the deaths appear, and my reaction is shown, I'm starting to feel so disgusted with myself.

Because I'm not feeling as anguished as I thought I'd feel watching this. In fact, in my head I'm making justifications for everything and why I killed the people I did. Every kill seems logical now— it makes sense.

And I find I'm perfectly fine watching this. In fact, I almost enjoy it. Because part of me believes they deserved it. The kids deserved it for trying to hurt me, and hurt Griffin. They deserved it for always calling us weak. They deserved it for trying to steal the supplies I'd decided would be Griffin and I's supplies. They deserved it for killing Griffin and touching his spear and trying to claim it as theirs.

The play back doesn't last long. Because most Hunger Games are over a span of three weeks or so, but this was only three days and a half. The shortest. Ever.

I am nothing but a Capitol pawn to punish those who rebelled the first time with Thirteen, seventy three years ago.

Whoever puts together the highlights had to choose what sort of story to tell. It seems this person picked a broken person. They show scenes of Griffin and I helping each other with our injuries and me talking about my family and Misha and especially the nightmares. They show me as being a cold blooded killer who wanted revenge.

And honestly, they aren't wrong. I am a cold blooded killer. Looking back, I did want revenge.

The play back ends. I'm breathing normally, much to my own surprise.

I hardly feel sadness. Except for Griffin, all of them deserved to die, didn't they?

At least that's what I'm supposed to think. I'm a killer. Their killer.

The anthem's playing yet again and I rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown. He marches up to me and delicately places it on my head.

His eyes are like a snake's. He seems to have enjoyed watching what he did.

"Very good job," he says. "You are now a legend, Miss Reeves."

A Capitol pawn, pleasing her president....

"Thank you," I say softly.

Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from all the waving when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they even have a choice.

I'm whisked away immediately to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, where I have very little time to actually eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with me.

Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. I'm surrounded by drunk people, kissed by drunk people, made to drink things that I have no clue about, and I have to just suck it up and do it.

This is how a victor has to party.

I hate it. Every other second I feel a new hand on me, tracing the netting on my back. Mostly men, and I know they're not admiring Griz's handiwork.

They're wondering how hard to pull in order to rip it off me.

And I can't fight. The first time I feel a touch I flinch, but Rupalia, who was at my side at the time, tells me to just ignore it— not reciprocate because to them it's a game.

Another sick, sick game. I have to play along again.

So I do. Touch after touch I'm just forced to smile. To pretend I don't feel hands tracing over me in places where I had only ever let Misha touch me in a dark room.

Occasionally, between my uncomfortable encounters with Capitolians, I catch a glimpse of Johanna and Blight, who are being bombarded with praise. They don't seem to be enjoying it any more than I am, and I wish we could leave already.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon when our group straggles back to the seventh floor of the Training Center.

"Now, to sleep!" Rupalia trills. "Tomorrow is a big day for you, Morgan, and you must sleep."

I sigh and head to my room.

"Wait."

Johanna and Blight wave me back. I'm glad I'll get to talk to them for a bit before bed, at least.

"How are you feeling?" Johanna asks.

"I don't really feel anything," I say. "In terms of what I saw. The party is a different story... is that normal?"

"Honestly, yes," Blight says. "This is completely overwhelming— I know it. Plus watching the deaths is never fun."

"I didn't mind that," I say softly. "I watched... and I was fine..."

Johanna nods knowingly. "We felt the same way when it happened to us. Because you automatically think that what matters is that you're alive. It doesn't make you a bad person if watching that causes you to feel indifferent or even excited. Let's be real— you're traumatized, and you will be traumatized for awhile. You did what you had to do. And frankly, some of those kids did awful things or had plans to do awful things to you and Griffin."

I begin to tear up. "He was so innocent," I whisper. "He didn't deserve to d-die like that."

"I know," Blight mumbles. As soon as a tear escapes my eye, he pulls me into a tight hug. I sob, releasing all my emotions onto his shoulder. Johanna wraps her arms around both of us and I cry, just cry.

Because I got my family killed. My innocent, innocent little sister, my hard working brother, my loving best friend and mother figure.

Because I let Griffin die. The sweet, caring little boy who just wanted to get to meet his baby sister. Now he won't be able to.

Because I killed the twins from One, who had their own family. I robbed their parents of two children in one blow, without even blinking. All because they posed a risk as Careers.

Because I killed Atlas. It wasn't his fault he'd only ever been taught to attack someone, and that he'd been conditioned since his childhood to kill and want to enter the Games.

Because I killed the girls from Three and Eight. They hadn't even done anything, they'd just been too close for comfort. They were young and innocent like my sister.

Because I killed the girl from Four. It wasn't her fault she was born a Career and had to try and eliminate me. She'd never even made a move to hurt me.

Because I killed the kids from Five, Six, and Eleven. Because they were trying to take supplies I deemed to belong to me and Griffin and didn't want them to have that advantage. They just wanted to have a fighting chance and I destroyed them.

But that's it. That's all I feel sad for.

I don't care that I killed Prospero. He killed Griffin for no reason. He hadn't even been defending himself. He hurt that little boy without a real cause. He deserved to die.

I don't care that I killed Tressa. If she'd never opened her fat mouth, my family wouldn't be dead. God, and the way she killed Benjamin....

I liked Benjamin. In another life, he might have been my friend, or even my boyfriend.

He reminded me so much of Misha...

Just like that, I'm done crying. I'm done feeling emotion. I'm done feeling for them.

I was supposed to do this. And that's that. I finished.

I don't feel anymore. I'm done feeling bad.

I then go to bed. Of course, the dreams don't go away now that I'm out of here.

I'm standing in the Training Center, surrounded by past Victors— the people who trained my fellow tributes.

The first to come up to me is Brutus, the man from Two. "Morgan," he says. "Before you become a mentor, you have to pass a test."

I feel myself tense. "O-Okay."

I suddenly am in a room— an obstacle course. There are various ropes and vaults to go through, and even something that looks like a lava pit.

A bell tolls. Instinctively, I begin to run, leaping effortlessly over the hurdles and large bins that are in my way. I swing across the ropes like monkey bars.

However, the lava pit is a long jump. Too long. I brace myself and sprint, then jump.

But I don't jump as I should be jumping. I go up and plummet straight down, screaming as I fall into the lava.

Only it doesn't burn me. It opens a portal that sends me back to where the other Victors linger.

"You didn't pass."

I turn around, and there's Finnick, glaring at me like he did when I waved at Benjamin that one time.

"I'm— I couldn't jump," I stammer. "It didn't let me."

"Or maybe you're just pathetic." He moves closer. I gulp and look up at him. "A weak girl. Not worthy."

Within seconds he's pulled out a trident, and he stabs me.

I wake with a start, holding my abdomen where the trident went in. Finding nothing, I slowly realize it was a dream.

Rupalia knocks on my door and I flinch, but know it's all good now— I'm back in reality.

Even the dreams don't affect me as much anymore. Why would they? I'm a killer myself.

I have about five minutes to eat a bowl of hot grain and stew before the prep team descends. I smile at them as nicely as I can and tell them they looked marvelous yesterday. After that, there's nothing left to talk about because they chat amongst themselves and fix my body as they deem fit.

Griz then comes in, and puts me in a very revealing silver dress that curves tightly around my figure— worse than yesterday's. Of course it's not painful or uncomfortable, just gives me that tight feeling. My hair he makes into an elegant half up half down manner, though he snips about an inch of it off. I don't mind. He personally adjusts my makeup and when I look in the mirror, I'm sure someone like Misha might've called me 'sexy.'

Thank God none of the Capitolian men are here to grab me...

The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and a nice cushioned chair had been moved in across from Caesar Flickerman's chair. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event.

Thankfully, no live audience.

Caesar gives me a warm hug when I come in. "Congratulations, Morgan. How are you faring?"

"I'm okay," I say with a tight smile. "Nervous about the interview."

"Don't be! We're going to have a fabulous time." He gives my shoulder a reassuring pat, and I sigh.

"It's just going to be a lot harder," I say. "Before I was pretending to be someone. Now I have to actually be me."

"You're great!" He says happily. "Besides, nothing you say will be wrong."

I shrug so he won't worry, but inside I'm still nervous.

Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. I smile a lot and answer the questions as simply and concisely as I can to get out of here sooner.

They're really simple questions. What did I enjoy the most about the Capitol? What was my favorite outfit to wear? How did I feel when I had gone into the arena?

Then, he goes into questions that require a greater explanation.

"Now Morgan," Caesar says, leaning closer to me like he wants me to say more than what I've been saying. "How did you feel when you realized you'd won?"

I feel my chest tighten, and I force a smile. But anyone who pays attention will be able to see the pain behind it, and I hope they do so they don't think I actually enjoyed all this.

"I wasn't all too surprised," I say. "I knew I could win, and after awhile I knew I had to win, then finally that I was going to win. I felt... relieved, I guess. That it was over. All that pain and suffering I saw... and I caused..."

I trail off and Caesar seems to like the sentiment. "I think we were all very touched when you held your District partner in your arms when he was dying. What were you thinking, in that moment?"

Pain. That's all.  
  


" _MORGAN! MORGAN! HELP!" Griffin yells. He's struggling. His spear is about five feet away from him, and Prospero may not have a weapon but he's a lot bigger than Griffin and he's got a chokehold on him._

_I stagger forward as fast as I can, already fumbling for a knife in my belt._

_Then I scream. Because I'm too late._

_Prospero yanks Griffin's spear off the ground and in one swift move, stabs it into his chest._

_I throw the knife. God, if I'd just thrown it a second sooner._

_A cannon sounds immediately, but it's Prospero's, not Griffin's._

_"GRIFFIN!" I scream. I collapse beside him and pull him into my lap, holding back a scream of pain as I feel the spearhead still stuck inside me moving around._

_"M-Morgan," he chokes, spitting blood out of his mouth._

_I brush some stray hair out of his face. His eyes are wild, in pain. His chest is leaking blood like a faucet._

_"Morgan," he says again, reaching to grab my face._

_"Griffin," I say softly, holding his head in my hands. "Oh Griffin... I'm so sorry— I was trying to get you home..."_

_I failed him._

_He shakes his head. "It's... okay." He begins to cry, and I have to swallow back tears._

_"P-Please," he says, closing hs eyes. "P-Please t-tell my m-mom and d-dad that I l-love them... and p-please tell... my sister... when she's born... that I... know she's... going to be... someone, someday." He winces in pain and I nod._

_"I promise," I say softly. "Griffin, I promise."_

_He smiles, spitting out more blood. "G-Good... good... good..."_

_His body goes limp, his eyes closing. I let out a loud sob as the cannon explodes._

_With shaky hands I bring his body up to hug him, and cry into his shoulder as I hold him._

_I fucking failed him. I was supposed to keep him alive and I didn't._

_"G-Griffin," I mumble, rubbing his back. "G-Griffin I'm so sorry.. so sorry...."_

_I hear the helicopter overhead and know I'll be forced to move. I kiss Griffin's forehead._

_"You r-rest now," I say softly. "You never... ever have to have another Hunger Games."_   
  


I gulp, swallowing back the tears I feel surfacing. "I was thinking that it was unfair. He didn't deserve to die like that. He should have gotten to win."

"Did you want him to win?" Caesar asks.

"Yes. God, yes. I wanted him to walk out alive, not me. I-I did everything I could to keep us both alive. I wanted him to be the victor."

I look down, my chest immensely tight as I try desperately to hold back tears. I can't cry, not now.

"Is there something you would like to say to his family, and your district before you return home?"

I look up at the camera directly in front of me. "I'm... I'm so sorry," I say quietly. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him. I'm sorry... that I got them killed...."

Caesar doesn't even know I'm talking about my family too.

"I don't expect you to... welcome me back with open arms," I say. "I understand if you don't. Just know I never, ever intended for any of this to happen."

Caesar then decides this is just a tad too sad. "That was beautiful, Morgan," he says, though he's smiling— not looking sad. "Now, your reputation."

God, don't even get me started on that. I don't want to think about it.

"As I'm sure you know, you broke the record for most kills by a sole tribute in a single Games, and you also broke the record for shortest Games in history. How do you feel about that?"

I don't even know what to say.

"The shortest Games part is nice," I say. "I'm glad to have gotten out faster. But the most kills... I..."

I shake my head. What can I even say that won't make me sound like a complete psychopath? My fellow victors will understand, mostly, that I did what I had to do.

But the people? The families of those kids I killed for no tangible reason? How can I explain to them that I'm sorry? They wouldn't even believe me if I did.

I look up, breathing deeply. "I did what I had to do. I'm sorry for that. I don't pretend I wouldn't do the same thing again if it came to that. To the families of the tributes, I'm sorry."

With that, Caesar claps. "Thank you so much, Morgan. We wish you a safe trip back."

The cameras cut off and I breathe heavily, standing up.

Caesar then pats my shoulder. "I would be prepared," he says. "The Victors are calling you 'The Murderess.' It's your nickname now."

I feel a knot form in my stomach. "Oh... okay. Thanks, Caesar."

He laughs, and leaves. That's that.

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing to take. They then drive us all through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say goodbye to Griz and Gliese. I know I'll see them again when, in a few months, when I tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. The stupid Victory Tour. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. I'll likely be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend the love me.

The train begins moving and we're plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. It's mostly over.

Rupalia is accompanying Blight, Johanna, and I back. She insists we eat an enormous dinner then settle to watch a replay of the interview. I tune it out, though.

Nothing matters anymore.

I'm never going to be the same person I was again.

Because I'm no longer a big sister.

I'm no longer a little sister.

Never the middle child between Devan and Gretchen again.

Because I'm no longer a daughter and best friend. Daphne won't be able to tease me anymore.

And Misha... there's nothing else to say. I loved him as a friend. And I will never be able to turn it into more.

I'm nobody important anymore.

Just a murderess.


	10. Chapter 10

I am exhausted by the time Rupalia shows the last interview tape, and tapes from the party that very clearly show how grabby the Capitolians were with me.

"That there, the one who touched your shoulder then back, was one of the sponsors Johanna had," Rupalia says happily, not caring how uncomfortable I looked when the older man touched me. "He's always sponsored women from Seven. Of course, the man that grabbed you there is the one who sent you and Griffin the medicine. They both pitched in, though. It was very expensive."

"Nice," I say through gritted teeth.

"I think she's tired, Rupalia," Blight says. "Shall we let her rest?"

"Oh of course!" Rupalia replies. "I will be in my room." She trots away and I send Blight a grateful look.

"What should I expect?" I inquire.

"Um, well, that's a good question," Blight mutters. "You never know what to expect."

"I wouldn't trust Blight," Johanna chuckles. "He told me to expect an axe as a present because that's what they gave him, and instead I got a horse."

"A horse?" I choke. "You got a whole horse?"

"To eat, Morgan, not as a pet."

I pout. "That's cruel. I'd never eat a horse."

"I'm surprised you don't remember it."

"I had a fever around the year you won. I was stuck in bed when you came back. Sorry."

"Oh please don't apologize, I don't give two shits," she says dismissively, shrugging. "I could care less."

"I would say, expect there to already be a decent more prosperity," Blight notes. "They give Seven their gifts right after you win. So by now they'll already have gotten money and food galore."

"Our district is enormous, Blight, did they really give everyone something?"

"Distribution is different in our district," he says thoughtfully. "They do individually give families prizes instead of collectively giving a district rewards. It's just so big, it'd go to waste. I expect everyone got a generous amount of food and money for themselves. They'll be thanking you."

"Thanking me?" I scoff. "Please, they despise me."

"Morgan they won't hate you," Johanna says. "Trust me. Your victory, as much as you hated it, brings them out of poverty. If your sister was still alive, they'd have given her the surgery to fix her before you even got home."

"Johanna!" Blight snaps.

I feel my mouth go dry. Johanna doesn't look very sorry when she stops abruptly, but I can tell she slightly regretted bringing it up.

"It's fine," I mutter. No point in blaming her for bringing it up.

I'll be expected to get over it soon enough.

We don't speak again the rest of the way. Blight sits with me in silence while Johanna goes to eat, clearly trying to stop herself from saying anything else that might upset me.

I simply can't bring myself to be angry at her.

The train begins to stop, and I stand up, looking out the window as the familiar forests and unpaved streets of my district come into view.

"There's no one at the station," Blight says, peeking out. "They'll most likely all be waiting at the Square for your speech, as they were instructed."

"Do I just pull some words out of my ass then?" I whisper, now feeling very dizzy.

"Something like that," Blight responds.

The train comes to a complete stop, and Rupalia whisks us off the train excitedly. I notice that she's reapplied some makeup in the time she's been in her room, but thankfully it's still not a scary amount.

"Come, come!" She chirps. "We mustn't keep them waiting!"

She trots out, very ahead of us, definitely set on arriving first and introducing me or something.

I nod slowly and walk out only once she's far away from us. Griz left me a simple, formal dress to wear for my return home— an elegant frock the color of the sea, similar to what I wore for the interview where I was crowned, again to bring out my eyes. I think he knew not to bring the Capitol into our district, because the dress covers a lot of my skin, but is still nice enough for it to be called formal.

"I'm surprised there aren't any reporters at the station," Johanna says as she and Blight protectively put their arms around me to lead me down the path to the Justice Building.

"I don't think they were allowed to come," Blight responds. "They were probably also told to wait at the square."

"Why do I get all this privacy?" I inquire.

"To keep you sane, probably," Johanna says truthfully. "Realistically, Morgan, you're being monitored after that performance. Fourteen people. They're going to make sure you don't pull a Placidus."

"What happened to him?"

"Well he got addicted to drinking first, then morphling, and he once he started fathering many bastard children around the Capitol, they forced him into therapy."

"Johanna!" Blight says sharply, as if she's not supposed to be telling me this.

"I'm being realistic, Blight, she needs to know."

"It's fine, Blight," I sigh. "No point in hiding it. They don't want me to slip off the edge, okay. So what, they stop crowding me to give me the space they assume I need? I'm definitely not complaining."

"See, she's fine," Johanna says happily, sounding glad that she outsmarted Blight or whatever she wants to call it.

He rolls his eyes and opens the door to the Justice Building.

Almost immediately, I'm bombarded by reporters. I tense and Johanna and Blight do too, clearly not having been expecting them.

Lights are blasting into my eyes. Cameras and microphones are being shoved at me from all directions and a million questions are being yelled at me.

So much for keeping me sane.

"Move!" Blight snaps, trying to push them away. "Morgan— you don't have to answer anything."

The reporters don't like this. They yell their questions louder, as if hoping to get through to me despite Blight's words.

I tune them out. I don't want to answer anything. I know they're only here because I made history. That's all. Usually the reporters don't bother coming back for the return, but I am a special case— I'm a top-notch killer now and the holder of two records. I don't care enough to give them what they want to hear right now.

"She's not answering questions!" Johanna snaps, yanking me through a door where thankfully, no one awaits me.

As soon as we're inside, and Johanna's slammed the door in the reporters's faces, I collapse into a chair, breathing deeply. "I can't do this."

"Breathe, Morgan," Blight says, sitting beside me.

"I am breathing," I say, my voice surprisingly hoarse.

"Stop talking, just breathe."

I roll my eyes, but listen. I take a deep breath, and Blight begins to give me orders on when to hold it, when to release, and when to start again. Johanna is pacing the room, muttering to herself.

The door flies open and Rupalia strides in, having been somewhere in the sea of reporters and now apparently having escaped.

"Morgan, there you are," she says happily, as if she's made it through a World War just to find me. "You're perfectly fine here. Unfortunately the reporters do not understand initial orders to leave you alone. I'll have Snow speak to them myself."

"Snow?" Johanna says immediately. "What do you mean Snow?"

"President Snow is coming here," Rupalia says. "I've only just been told. He's going to be meeting us at Morgan's new house."

"What?" Johanna snarls. "No, Rupalia, he can't— you can't possibly think he's here for anything good— make him go back to the Capitol!"

"Johanna I can't just tell the president to go back home when he's come all this way—"

"BULLSHIT! District Seven isn't that far from the Capitol! Tell him—"

"Stop!" Blight snaps. "Calm down. Johanna, if he's coming, we can't stop him from doing so. He has a motive. It may not be what you think, it's probably like what happened with Raff after his Games— he comes to discuss his reputation because he too got the whole nickname by other victors situation and—"

"Stop pretending you don't know what's going on, Blight, you know—"

"SILENCE!" I have never seen Rupalia look so cross. "We're not going to tell the president anything! He is here for Morgan and Morgan only. We will walk her to her new house, let them talk, and only come in if we are wanted!"

"Forget Snow," I say quickly before Johanna can give her a piece of her mind. "I don't particularly care why the president is here, nor that he is coming. I don't trust him regardless, so who cares? I'll be careful, and that's that. But— new house? What's wrong with the one I have?"

"Don't be silly Morgan, nothing is wrong with it, it's just not fit for a victor! You're a victor now, so you get a brand new house in the beautiful Victor's Village!"

I don't know why Rupalia expects me to be so excited.

"Yeah right, beautiful," Blight snorts, thankful at the change in subject. "Morgan, just a heads up, it's not great at all. Walls aren't soundproof. The whole house is pre-styled and you can't change it."

"The food is very nice, though," Rupalia cuts in, clearly not wanting Blight to discourage me. "And the water is easily adjustable to temperatures."

"But the bathtubs are oriented in this weird way, smack in the middle of the room, it's awkward," Johanna says. "So you'll be floating in the water with open air around you and nothing to lean back on."

"That's quite enough!" Rupalia shrieks. "Thank you very much for making her not want to go to her house! Now come on, speech time."

Blight and Johanna smirk, and I roll my eyes at them as Rupalia leads me out the main doors of the Justice Building, where I suddenly find myself back on stage with all the people from my District down in the square staring up at me.

Rupalia pushes me forward and I gulp. I was definitely not prepared to be shoved forward immediately. I at least expected her to introduce me so I would have time to come up with an approach. I don't even have anything prepared. The whole trip back I've just constantly been thinking about what Caesar told me regarding me being known as 'The Murderess' and well, everything else plaguing my life at the moment.

Hundreds of eyes look up at me and I have nothing to offer.

"Um, hello," I say awkwardly into the microphone. "It's... nice to be home."

I begin to scan faces. Many of them are smiling at me, and I can't begin to imagine why until I remember that they all got nice little presents because of me.

Johanna was right. They don't despise me.

"Thank you for all your uh, support these past years," I continue. I have no idea what the hell to say. "Without you all, I don't think I could have made it this far."

That's when I see it. A small glint of silver. It catches my eye and it makes me turn my head to where it came from.

I almost choke. Mayor Allardyce and his wife are down in the crowd, with the others. What caught my eye is a small box they're holding, and I feel a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach because I know exactly what it is.

"I would like to say," I start, before I even plan my response out, "I am sorry."

This makes many people's faces become serious.

"I am sorry that it is me who's coming back," I say, "and not Griffin Allardyce."

The Mayor and his wife look up immediately, and I see the poor woman cover her mouth, and then look down at the little box.

"I want to take this moment to pay a moment of silence for Griffin."

I go silent, and everyone follows my lead. I don't hear a single sound. Not even the rustling of paper, or leaves. The wind itself ceases to move and for at least five minutes, I stare out into the sky, tears already pooling in my eyes, because right now my entire District and I are connecting, are united in this moment of grieving with the Allardyce family, and respecting the little boy that should be here, standing as a victor instead of me.

I am almost in shock with how quiet it is. I have never been someplace so quiet. My home especially has never been like this. At night there is always the sound of someone crying, or laughing, or in some cases screaming. The wind is always howling and rattling against the cheap wood that makes us our homes since the more high quality wood is used for furniture for the Capitol and not us. The animals are always alive too, with birds chirping or screeching at any given time, or rodents scurrying around at nighttime in search of food.

At this moment it seems that every living thing and even some who are not living have decided to rest, to take in this mourning of a bright and kind natured little boy who never got to meet his baby sister, and did not get a chance to tell his parents the goodbye that he so wished to give them, the goodbye he instructed me to give instead because he knew it wouldn't come to them from him. He's physically inside the silver box that Mayor Allardyce's wife holds close to her chest, but spiritually I can feel him all over, inside the mind and heart of every citizen that I grew up with, spanning the entire square and further back. We are all silent for him.

"Thank you," I say in a small voice when over seven minutes have passed. I can't hold it longer, because there is so much more that I need to say about Griffin, and at this moment I do not have all the time in the world. "Griffin was... I think probably the most pure, kind person in the Games this year. He, upon entering, went to help a boy who had his legs blow off rather than head to the Cornucopia. He was there for him as he died and then he kept me safe when I was injured. Kept me alive. I am so beyond sorry that I was unable to save him, and I want us to, as a District, never forget him, his work, his sacrifice, which is what got me here and is the reason I stand before you, grateful that you're welcoming me back even though I do not deserve it."

I look back and Johanna is the one nodding at me. Rupalia is crying, and Blight has his eyes closed, probably internalizing my words.

"Thank you." I finish, and bow my head. Rupalia materializes behind me and immediately moves me down the side of the stage and into the crowd, where I am bombarded with welcomes and praise from my people.

"Morgan." The first voice that actually catches my attention in the sea of District Seven citizens is Mrs. Vangsenn.

I throw myself into her arms and she hugs me immediately, letting out a soft sob.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I told him not to."

"W-What do you mean?" I say back, my lips trembling.

"Devan. He was so angry, he started to fight for Misha to be returned from wherever they took him and he... caused a bit of a riot."

I feel my blood run cold. "So they..." I can't even finish.

"Then when they found out about him stealing well... they executed the lot of them. I told him to deny it because there was no proof but he fessed up."

I begin to cry but I'm not sure why. Relief that partly, even a small fraction, is not my fault? That my family's fate had not been entirely in my hands? Anger, that Devan would be so reckless when he knew better? Sadness that they weren't more lenient?

I don't know, but I release every last tear, hugging Mrs. Vangsenn again.

"I t-thought it was a-all my fault," I choke.

"Oh Morgan," someone in the crowd behind Mrs. Vangsenn says. I can't see who it is through the tears. "We could never blame you for that."

"You know how they are," a male voice says behind me. The same person pats my back. "Why, Devan used to come to my shop everyday and give me news from your side of town of who else was punished for the silliest things. None of it was ever your fault, my dear."

"Yes, when we were told that you'd told someone and somehow it went down, we never blamed you," another woman's voice says somewhere to my right. "You couldn't have known someone would eavesdrop. You told someone you trusted and they well, they didn't reveal it."

I can't believe it. Four people who are well aware of how I played a part in this, who knew my family well enough, from how they're talking, are saying it's not my fault.

I almost feel a great weight lifted off my shoulders.

I pull away from Mrs. Vangsenn and she wipes my eyes, then kisses my forehead. "Please remember to visit me, sweetheart. I love your company."

A clap sounds, and soon everyone around me is clapping to the rhythm that we learn as a symbol for seven. Two fast claps, one slow, seven fast, and seven very slow to finish with one big clap.

I am home.

After I manage to make my way through the crowd and receive many more congratulations and welcomes, I find my way in front of the Allardyce family.

The Mayor and his wife waste no time in wrapping their arms around me.

I don't know how long we last in the embrace, but it's quite a while. I don't care that the sun is starting to blaze on my neck, I don't want to let them go.

But finally I have to pull away. "He told me to tell you both how much he loves you," I whisper, swallowing back more tears that threaten to come out as I look at the silver box. "And to the baby, when she's born, that she'll be someone someday."

"She's due in about five more months," the Mayor says, his voice shaky. "We will... let you know. Now please go ahead, the president has arrived and is expecting you."

I'd forgotten about Snow.

I bid them all farewell, then kiss the lid of the silver box holding Griffin's ashes, and Rupalia takes me by the hand before leading me down a long path alongside Johanna and Blight, up a hill where for the first time ever, I get to behold Victor's Village.

Blight was right, it isn't really beautiful.

There are a total of six houses, all put into a semicircle around a fountain that isn't even turned on, and looks like it hasn't been used in decades. On the left side, two of the houses look like they're currently in use, which I take to be probably Raff and Blight's houses or Johanna and Blight, or Johanna and Raff, I don't know. The far end at the center of the six houses holds a statue that separates them in three and three, and as we come closer to the house on the right of it, which looks currently in use as well (this one might be Johanna's from the lack of curtains) I see that the statue is a lumberjack.

How original.

"This one's yours," Rupalia says to the house on the left side of the statue. "You and Johanna are right next door to each other."

"We'll get to have sleepovers," Johanna says sarcastically, waving at me before trudging into her house.

"President Snow is inside," Rupalia says. "Blight and I will wait out here for you."

I nod and go inside, the mahogany door making no sound as it opened.

I fine myself staring into the most luxurious house I've ever seen. White marble floors, high ceilings, a chandelier, expensive looking paintings all over the walls that are already decorated with golden paint in strange yet beautiful patterns. I keep walking and find first a small circular room with a table for keys, and a few hooks for coats.

I look into the room on the right, through a gap in the wall, and see a grandiose living room with a fire started over logs, and velvety couches with a mahogany table with fruit on it. To the left is a marvelous, expensive kitchen with marble countertops and a refrigerator— a real, working refrigerator.

I walk straight and find two staircases on either side, leading to the upper floors which must be rooms and bathrooms. Continuing straight, I find myself in a beautiful library with so many books I felt nauseous. A large window reveals an outer lawn.

I hear someone clear their throat and flinch.

On a small sitting chair in the corner of the library sits President Snow himself.

"Mr. President," I say calmly, going toward him. I extend my hand to shake his but he waves it off.

"Don't worry, Miss Reeves, no need to be so formal," he chuckles. It's strange to see him look so... happy. "Please, sit."

I sit across from him, crossing my legs as I've been taught to. "I've been told you wanted to see me."

"Yes, indeed," he says. "Congratulations, my girl. You have done very well."

"Very well?" I inquire, a bit confused. "I just did what I had to do."

"I like the honesty. You have succeeded in breaking records. To that, I say well done. But I know that here, without cameras, I can ask you how you really feel."

I feel as though this is a trap, is what I wish I could say to him. This is suspicious to me.

"I don't know how to feel," I say truthfully. "Ashamed, but also slightly proud, I suppose. Sad and angry but also relieved. I'm home, alive, meanwhile others are not. How do I feel about that? Your answer is that I don't know."

My response seems to be exactly what he wanted to hear. "You are honest, as I already mentioned. I very much appreciate that. You have fire, Miss Reeves. Not too much but not too little, and you indeed know how to keep it tamed yourself."

What is that supposed to mean? I've been his pawn, entertaining his guests at his party and throughout the short days I was in the arena, as I had to do because of his laws. I've only aided his cause. Why is he okay with me having fire? Isn't that meant to be bad?

"I come to say that you have been evaluated as possibly unstable," he continues, not caring that I look confused. "I had ordered your District to keep reporters away but they, unaware the orders were from me, came anyway. For that I apologize. I have fixed that personally, and got to watch that lovely speech you gave. I do not think you are unstable, Miss Reeves. You have experienced loss and have been transformed."

He's rubbing it in my face. The fact my family is dead and I am now known as a Murderess. I know he is.

"I come with a proposition," he says at last. "To keep you busy, and sharp. As you might know, the Capitol citizens are very fond of you, as they have been of other victors in the past. The name Finnick Odair might ring a bell."

I nod slowly. Finnick? What does he have to do with anything?

"You are radiant, Miss Reeves," he says. "After the right training, you could make myself, others, and yourself especially satisfied. I would like to offer you a position as part of my elite workforce. You'd ultimately belong to me, to manage, and I would give you jobs to do. You'd directly receive money from these jobs, and in return your District can receive many more gifts that they will surely enjoy."

"Jobs?" I ask, dreading what his answer will be. "What kind of jobs?"

His eyes flicker like that of a real snake's and I know immediately he's going to make an offer with a catch I won't be able to refuse.

"Being sold," he says. "To put it in terms you'll understand better, become one of my prized little prostitutes that I will sell to those who pay us both for your company."

My skin crawls, and I feel all the color drain from my face.

"Like I said, I'd own you, and give you people to go to in order to perform to the very best of your capabilities, which you'll acquire after training. You'd leave me satisfied with my sum, leave others satisfied with the use and enjoyment of your body, and leave yourself satisfied with money and prizes for your District. What do you say?"

"No." It flies out of my mouth so quickly, because I don't initially have any terms to think about. "No. I will not— would never— just let you sell me like that. I'm not yours. You can't make me do this. I don't want to give myself to anyone after any sort of training. You— you let my family be killed. You have no leverage against me. I won't. I am not your pawn anymore. I know I must have made you proud, killing in those stupid Games the way you force others to— the way you have for the past seventy three years. I did what I had to do and still I'm here and my family is dead, and my one of my best friends is missing. I have suffered enough. I will not."

I'm breathing hard now, gripping the edges of the chair I'm in to not lash out.

Snow looks calmly at me. "A pawn. You are smart, Miss Reeves. But you did it yourself, did you not? I did not tell you to kill fourteenchildren. You did it yourself. As for your family, well that was certainly not my doing. I found out the same night you did. That was orchestrated by Peacekeepers and victors and officials that did not communicate anything to me. As for leverage well, you know I do have that for you. Miss Mason next door... she simply refused. I killed her family, simple as that. Her leverage. That's what she lost because she didn't satisfy me. You, my little pawn, will have no choice."

He leans in closer. "Because unless you do this, Mayor Allardyce, his wife, and the unborn child will be joining their son in an early grave. Mrs. Vangsenn will be with your ex-boyfriend Brannock and her husband again, won't she? District Seven will need new stylists, because those siblings Griz and Gliese will be gone. I assure you that all those people I have mentioned will not live to see another day if you refuse me. So think very carefully about your answer to my next question, Miss Reeves." He licks his lips and a sick smile curls into them. "Will you become mine to sell as I please?"

I don't have to think before I tell him yes.


	11. Chapter 11

It's only been a month after I came home, that President Snow gained a new piece of property to sell, that I'm going to be sent to my 'training.'

The night before I have to go, I'm staying at Johanna's. Blight and Raff wanted to be there for moral support, but she said it was girl time, and they will say goodbye to me in the morning before I board a train to the Capitol.

"You said we were going to have sleepovers," I mutter, trying to lighten the mood because it's Johanna who is most distressed about this.

She knew immediately (when Rupalia told her that Snow was coming) exactly why he'd come. What he was going to offer me.

She of course didn't know he'd rope so many people into it.

"He told me I'd regret saying no," she mumbles, sitting beside me, wrapped in a blanket made of pure cotton. "But he didn't tell me what he'd do. You— he told you straight up he was going to kill people. He wants you badly."

"Well he probably can make a lot for me," I say. "I turned eighteen a week ago. I'm still young, barely an adult. I'm not used up yet."

"You won't be used up until you reach your thirties," she scoffs. "Finnick was what, seventeen also when they started badgering him. That was five, almost six years ago. And he's barely 23 right now."

"I didn't know that, about him," I say, leaning back on Johanna's couch. "I didn't even know his name before you told me after I said he didn't let me talk to Ben— the tribute from Four."

I can't say his name.

She looks at me sadly. "Finnick and I have gotten close the past two years. He confessed it to me. The only other people who know are Mags, his old mentor, and his best friend, Annie Cresta— the crazy girl that won the 70th Hunger Games. No one is supposed to know the truth. He says there's only three others like him, and you make a total of five. I don't know exactly who the three are, they must be attractive but not as popular as Finnick. They're not all victors either, one was just a citizen Snow plucked out of her district. Finnick is made to seem as someone who has many lovers in the Capitol but those are just the people he's being sold to. So no one will know that you're a prostitute, Morgan, except us. All of Panem will think you're the female version of Finnick, going from person to person unable to find a solid lover. Trust me, the District people will glorify you more for it."

I nod slowly.

"You'll be okay," she mutters, though I feel the reassurance is more for herself and not for me. "They won't let you get infected or anything... Finnick says the trainer is as kind as she can be under the circumstances. I wish this hadn't happened, Morgan..."

I put my hand over her shoulder and shrug. "But it happened. Have to make the best of it. The only thought that keeps me from going crazy is that I'm keeping innocent people alive."

"You're handling it really well. I hardly recognize you anymore."

"I hardly recognize myself anymore."

It's true. My appearance has become almost always makeup and styled hair and gorgeous outfits that Griz and Gliese have mass sent from their homes in the Capitol. They're making preparations for my Victory Tour, which will happen in five months.

During the five months I will be working, then probably during and after the Victory Tour I'll have jobs to do as well.

Whenever I look at myself in the mirror that's all I see. A soon to be attractive Capitol prostitute. There's not much more I can say to describe myself anymore.

I'm not me.

"As soon as you get there, you tell Finnick that Johanna says to watch over you," she continues, now tugging anxiously at the fluff on her blanket. "Tell him I order him to keep you safe. To teach you the proper ins and outs so you don't lose yourself."

"I'm scared to talk to him," I say. It's true, and I know it's lightening the mood.

Johanna lets out a laugh. Mission accomplished. "You're scared to talk to Finnick? He's so approachable."

"Well the one time I interacted with him, he gave me the stink eye. I don't know how to feel about that."

"He's very kind, very caring. Trust me, you'll love him as soon as he opens his mouth."

I shrug. "Maybe."

Johanna pats her lap, and I take it as a sign to move closer to her. She yanks me down a bit abruptly to lay on her lap, and her hands reach out to braid my hair.

"What are you doing?" I ask her, since she's never been so girly before.

"I'm braiding your hair, Morgan, what does it look like?"

"Yes, but why?"

"Because isn't this what sister's do? Or something?"

"I don't know, I never knew how to braid hair and neither did Gretchen. We just cuddled in bed. Had pillow fights sometimes."

Surprisingly thinking about Gretchen doesn't hurt as much anymore.

Probably because every morning I have to take antidepressants among other vitamins. They were mandated by Snow himself. I can't be a depressed, unhealthy prostitute.

"You think of me as a sister?"

"Maybe," Johanna admits. "I don't know."

"That's totally a yes."

"Shut up or I'll stab you."

"You'd have to catch me first and you're not fast enough."

"You're vulnerable on my lap, you act like I can't just smother you with a pillow right now."

"You wouldn't because then you'd miss me more, wouldn't you?"

I'm going to miss her too.

In the morning, Blight and Raff walk me to the train. Raff isn't the nicest to me, or any of the others for that matter, but he shakes my hand and says goodbye. Blight hugs me, then pushes me onto the train, which I ride alone.

The ride to the Capitol is calm. No Rupalia to be chattering about Effie or Capitol stuff. No Johanna to be saying morbid things to me, her apparently little sister.

Calm.

When I arrive at the Capitol, there are no reporters, which I am greatly thankful for. I am escorted by Peacekeepers to a small shuttle that drives for about half an hour to a large building that looks a lot like the training center, though I know it isn't.

I am escorted up fifteen floors before being pushed into a bathroom, where I am given clothes to wear.

"This is your uniform for the week," the Peacekeeper with me says. "You're to wear it everyday. A clean one will be on your nightstand every morning."

"Nightstand?" I ask. "We have rooms?"

"A shared room. You all sleep in the same room. Doctors have recommended you should bond. Your bed will be assigned later."

I nod, and pull off my clothes to get dressed.

I immediately hate my uniform. It's literally just lacy (sexy, I guess) underwear and a simple transparent dress that is spaghetti strapped, and with a slight cleavage. It stops right where the curve of my bottom ends, and is skin tight.

They really must want us to get comfortable with each other's bodies, and our own.

When I finish changing, the Peacekeeper instructs me to leave my hair down, and I am then led into a large living room where everyone is already there, apparently waiting to welcome me.

The two women who sit on the couch beside each other chatting are wearing the exact same outfit as me.

Across from them are two men. One is Finnick, and the other I don't recognize. They are completely shirtless, and have on pants that are not see through at all. They are dressed decently.

"Oh, you're here!" A woman sitting in the back corner with a clipboard trots up to me, and shakes my hand excitedly before kissing me full on the lips.

I blink and take a minute to observe her. She looks to be about thirty five, with dark eyes and very light skin, her hair dirty blonde and hanging over her shoulders. She has on a dress like mine but it is much more decent and not transparent at all, just the same material.

Before I can ask her name, she yanks me forward in front of everyone.

"She's here!" She says, as if they can't already see that. "Please Morgan, join us."

She motions for me to sit on the couch beside the other two women, and then takes a chair for herself.

We're in an odd circle, ish, as if we're going to be sharing feelings.

"Now, we're all going to introduce ourselves, just like we did when you all first started," the woman said. "I'll go first as the example. My name is Silka. This is my, oh dear, twentieth year working here. I'm fifty six years old. I like to take walks, watch old re-runs of past Games, and read about bodies and pleasure centers!"

I can't believe one person could say so many ridiculous things all at once.

Fifty six? She hasn't got a single wrinkle on her. I can't believe she's fifty six at all.

"Everyone will do the same," Silka says. "And by the way, Morgan, we don't deal with last names here. Firsts or nicknames. That's all."

I nod, and she points to the woman next to me to start.

She stands, and I see immediately she's very tall. She has skinny legs and arms, a little more than a skeleton but almost as thin. She looks sick to me, but someone else might call her sexy. Her hair falls to her waist, in straight blonde lines mixed with streaks of pink, as if she went tor strawberry blonde and it got fucked up. Her face is wrinkle-less like Silka's, and she has curious green eyes, thin pink lips, and thin eyebrows. She's beautiful, in a creepy way.

"My name is Althea," she says, looking down at me. "I have been working here for... well, this is my twelfth year now. I'm thirty two. I like to sleep, eat, and well... that's it."

"Thank you, Althea," Silka says kindly. "Next."

The woman on Althea's left stands. They look similar, both with long blonde hair, green eyes, and a skeletal figure. But this woman's skin is very pale, compared to Althea's slightly tan skin. Her cheekbones make her look even creepier. She has a faraway look in her eyes, and eyebrows and lips that are a little thicker than Althea's.

"My name is Laurel," she says. "I have been working here for fourteen years. I'm thirty four. I like to read history books. Nothing else."

She sits, and crosses her arms. Not the most social, I see.

The man beside Finnick stands. He is not as muscular as Finnick, and his skin is even paler than Laurel's. His eyes are a deep brown and his hair is very short. He has a bit of a mustache and beard but not much. He looks sadder than everyone in here.

"My real name is not one I use, therefore I'll present my name as Sextus," he starts. "This is my eighteenth year here, and I am thirty eight." He pauses, which gives me time to think. He has been doing this as long as I've been alive. "Hmm, there's not much I like to do. Walk, like Silka said. Sometimes visit my old District, six. Oh! I love having sex."

Althea and Laurel burst into a fit of giggles, and Silka follows, which makes Sextus laugh, but my face hardly twitches, which I notice catches Finnick's attention. He isn't laughing either.

Sextus strikes me immediately as the kind of person who enjoys this job and probably didn't care to refuse it when it was first offered to him.

I start to think that these people who have introduced themselves thus far have been doing this for over ten years already.

I stop thinking, because now it's Finnick's turn.

Easily, he is the most attractive person in the room. If I were a stranger and had to pick one of these to buy from President Snow, it'd be him. He's fit, tall, with a mischievous smile and dazzling green eyes. His sandy hair looks bronze in this light, which must be its natural color. He looks vulnerable the way he stands, but powerful at the same time, and I know I'd be inclined to trust him (which I'd learn later was his goal).

"I'm Finnick," he says. I've never heard him speak, and immediately he strikes me as someone who should be a diplomat. Firm, reassuring, without the unrealistic peppiness in most Capitolian's voices. "This is only my sixth year doing this. I'm twenty three. I love to swim, spend time with my fellow victors, and well, eat."

Everyone laughs at this, even me. Even though Althea had mentioned eating as one of her likes, she didn't weave it into a comical note the way Finnick did.

I decide that's what makes him the most popular, and perhaps the most dangerous one here.

"We've almost gone full circle," Silka says happily. "Morgan, your turn."

I stand, feeling very self conscious at the moment, because I'm realizing beside Finnick, my body is the healthiest and most natural. Althea, Laurel, and Sextus have lost the healthy look, although they maintain the attractiveness a prostitute is meant to have by Snow's standards. I can see Laurel looks envious at how tan my skin is, and I realize I am the only one here with blue eyes.

"I'm Morgan," I say, so quietly that Silka put a hand to her ear for me to speak up. "I'm Morgan," I say louder. "I just started... obviously... so I don't have a year to put out. I've just turned eighteen. I like...."

I don't even know what I like now. I haven't been doing much other than read and visit Mrs. Vangsenn, along with collecting a few things from my old house.

Everything I used to like to do is no more because my family is gone.

"I like...." but again, nothing comes to mind. I must look like a complete idiot, not knowing what to say.

"She likes to read," Sextus says as if he's made the greatest discovery. "I know that from how she's twitching just her pointer finger. That's be the finger she turns the page with."

"Or the finger she throws her knives and axes with," Laurel says bitterly. I feel my skin turn hot, and it's Finnick who saves me.

"Leave her alone, Laurel, you have no idea what it's like to be in the Hunger Games," he says sharply. Laurel closes her mouth immediately.

So that's the one Snow plucked out of her district...

"I do like to read," I say quickly in an attempt to relieve the tension. "Sextus was um, right."

He claps, and Silka lets out a laugh.

"I like to climb trees," I continue, thinking of what I used to enjoy. "And I like... well, liked stargazing with my sister."

Silka immediately gets up and claps. "Good job, everyone! Now that we're all acquainted, we'll let you all relax today, get to know each other, and feast before we get to studying tomorrow. Althea and Laurel, you will need to help Morgan learn all the techniques."

I turn red immediately.

They're going to teach me how to be the dominant one, because I will have to do all the work for any client I get....

"Sure," Althea says. "Where will the food be?"

"The dining h—"

Silka hasn't even finished before Althea and Laurel race out the door, Sextus following closely behind them. Silka sighs and goes with them, and I am left alone with Finnick.

He stares directly at me, and I want to crawl into a hole because his gaze is so penetrating, I feel he's looking into my mind.

"Thank you," I say impulsively. "For defending me against Laurel."

He shrugs, his eyes still fixated on me. "Couldn't let her do you dirty when she has no fucking idea what she's talking about. I tell you, that woman drives me crazy. She always pretends to relate to what the rest of us went through. She was from District One. Lived her whole life with luxury. Said yes to this job like nothing. Snow didn't have to kill anyone for her, or threaten to." He stands and comes to sit next to me, and I mean right next to me, because now we're barely a foot and a half apart. "Johanna sent a message. I respect anything Johanna says so I will, as she put it, 'watch over you' and 'teach you the proper ins and outs so you don't lose yourself.' Unfortunately the ins and outs part will mostly be up to you since I, my dear, do not use the same techniques as the women do."

"Of course not, you're a guy," I mutter, trying to keep myself calm because he keeps leaning closer toward me, as if trying to intimidate me. Finally I can't stand it. "Personal space," I hiss, moving away.

He chuckles. "Johanna said you were afraid to talk to me, or something like that. Just teasing."

I turn red, or at least redder than I already am. The fuck did she tell him that for?

"I'm not afraid," I say quickly.

"Hmm? Say something funny then. People can't come up with something funny when they're afraid."

He's testing me.

I swallow hard and say the first thing that comes to mind. "I find it fitting that Sextus's name has the word 'sex' in it."

His lips twitch and he chuckles. "Not bad, but that sucked."

"Tell him that, not me. Besides, I was just under the impression you didn't like me."

"I didn't trust you. I knew what Johanna was doing but well, Benjamin let your little seductive act fool him and look where that got him."

I gulp, and move away, only to find myself reaching the end of the couch.

"You'll be good at this," Finnick says, his voice lower. "You already know how to manipulate people, seduce them to lead to their downfall." He's moving closer, and I get up, backing away. He smirks and gets up, moving toward me so fast that I stumble backwards right into a wall.

Finnick's body presses agains mine immediately, and he slams his hands on either side of my head, making me flinch as I struggle to crane my neck up to keep eye contact.

"W-Why are y-you doing this?" I choke, my heart pounding in my chest. "I d-didn't mean to... I swear... I didn't... I don't..."

"Just as an example of how you're going to have to be," he breathes in a husky voice. I smell mint. "Consider this a warning." His voice goes quiet, and I realize he's not threatening me, he's trying to help me. "They are going to hurt you in ways you can't even imagine," he says so softly I can barely hear him even though his mouth his right beside my ear. "You need to stop blaming yourself and be strong, because they are going to give you to some very difficult people. Take it from me. You will be made to convince them of things. Snow will give you an objective. You will please them, they will pay you maybe three thousand dollars worth of items, and then you will be expected to put an idea in their heads to benefit Snow. You have to toughen up and I am saying this for your own good. If I'm going to protect you, you need to do your part and keep yourself strong emotionally, physically, and mentally. There's only so much I can do if you let yourself keep apologizing for something that was not your fault." He pulls away and says louder, for a camera to hear— "and that's what I'll do if you don't do your job right. We have to do our work. So keep up."

In an instant he is out the door, and I'm left to breathe heavily, and look afraid for whatever camera may be in here.

I won't go into detail regarding what I learned that week but I will say that it is perhaps the most intimately I have ever known the human body. I didn't know there were so many ways to manipulate pleasure centers to even affect someone psychologically. Althea taught me a wording trick mixed with a physical technique that will ensure whatever 'objective' Snow gives me goes through to the person I work on. Laurel showed me how to keep up my stamina even when faced with very vigorous movements that would easily tire anyone out.

Sextus proves to me as much of a freak as I knew he might be, and I don't mean he's crazy, he's just very strange in the techniques he uses. He and I, just like Laurel and I, don't form any sort of real bond, but it doesn't stop both of them from being civil to me and I returning the civilness back.

Of course, none of them connect as well with me the way that Finnick does. After his warning, I decide to work on myself, though that is internal turmoil I never want to think about again. He helps me a bit too, with some late night chats in the dining hall with music playing to hinder any camera ears (you know what I mean). At least by the end of the week I'm not constantly blaming myself.

"So, what's your favorite thing you learned this week?" Finnick says, swirling his drink before taking a sip.

"Hmm, that's difficult," I mumble. I don't mind his proximity now, in fact, it's completely fine by me.

By now I've learned everything there is to learn about Finnick that I didn't previously know because I didn't pay attention. He has his record as the youngest victor in history Being from District Four, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favor, especially with his looks. In the arena, while other tributes were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late.

He apparently was already a good fighter with the spears and knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident— which may be the most expensive gift I've ever heard of given in the arena— it was all over. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with his trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.

The citizens of the Capitol have been drooling over him ever since, which is where Snow got him. Like Johanna had said, he hadn't started til he was seventeen because he was so young, but after that he'd come here like me and well, learned his way.

"Come on, you have to have a favorite thing," he insists.

"Maybe learning that you can work knots as well as me," I say.

"Liar, you didn't learn that this week," he replies, smirking as he sips his drink again.

"Yes I did! When you wove that... thing that Silka had to put on people when they're... yeah... you made knots that most people can't make."

"Pfft, you had to know I worked knots before though. Benjamin told me that he found your supposed 'one talent' at the knot station. Didn't you see him work them?"

"Honestly I was paying more attention to his face, not his hands, you know, so I didn't put two and two together."

"I'm literally from District Four," he cries in disbelief, chuckling and almost spilling his drink. "You never considered maybe fishing has to do with nets?"

"Well you didn't know how I was good with knots. Didn't you ever consider we use these to climb safely and pull planks for miles before reaching the factories that use them?"

"I don't know anything about Seven, my dear, no one does."

"Oh I forgot District Four is so popular thanks to you," I sigh dramatically. "Their Golden Boy."

"Golden Boy? You're rude. My hair is bronze."

"Bronze Boy does not sound as nice as Golden Boy."

"What'll be your nickname, then?"

"Please, haven't you heard already? The other victors dubbed me 'The Murderess.'"

"Hmm, hot. Maybe you should keep that, so when you're going down on someone you can joke that you'll murder them."

I smack him as I laugh. I can't even believe that all this talk doesn't bother me anymore.

Johanna was right, I did love him the instant he opened his mouth. He's so approachable.

He looks at the clock and sighs. "Alas, Miss Morgan, you and I need to sleep if we're going to return to our homes tomorrow."

"Mm. Yes we do, huh?"

"Sounds like you don't want to go home."

"I'll have to leave you," I say with false sadness. "Oh, how I'll miss you."

"You can call me, you know," Finnick offers. "You can request anything from Snow and he has to give it to you. Ask for a telephone. I have one, I requested it. Every call is monitored but you and I will be able to hear each other's lovely voices from time to time. We're allowed to gossip about customers to each other, you know, since we work the same job."

"Oh really? I'll look forward to it."

___________

As soon as I leave the building the next day, I use the telephone in the train to call the President himself.

"Yes, Miss Reeves?" He says, and somehow I know he's smiling.

"Hello, Mr. President," I reply, sweetly as I can muster. "I have a request to make."

"Interesting, so do I."

I freeze. "Hmm, make yours first then."

"I have a customer for you. Your train is on its way to their mansion now. We will see how well you were trained."

"Alright," I say, my heart beating fast. "But I expect a telephone installed in my house the instant I get back."

"Of course, that can be arranged."

"Perfect. Then, who is going to be my first customer?"

"Someone who made your arena far too easy this year. Make sure he toughens it up for next year."

I bite my lip. The objective Finnick mentioned. "Definitely. What's his name?"

"Seneca Crane."


	12. Chapter 12

**Morgan Reeves's POV**

_74th Hunger Games_

Exhaustion. That's all I feel as I wake up today, on Reaping Day.

One year ago today, I was chosen to be in the 73rd Hunger Games.

One year ago today, I had my last ever conversations with my family.

One year ago today, Misha disappeared.

I haven't been able to sleep this whole week. Snow has given me a break with work since two weeks ago to attend a mentor's conference and learn how to be a good mentor (though honestly hardly anyone cared to go, so it was only Blight and I aside from a few others. Finnick didn't go because Annie wasn't up for it).

I was supposed to attend the conference with Raff, but a bit before my Victory Tour started he got an awful fever, and insisted it was a sign that his time was near. He didn't let us give him medication, so naturally he passed away, and his house is now deserted.

As I get out of my bed I'm plagued by soreness of all types. My arms ache from shoveling dirt yesterday to help Johanna plant a nice tree she bought in the square. My legs hurt from all the running I've gotten used to doing uphill to build up my stamina (Finnick suggested it and honestly it makes me want to shove an axe in his face, but he's right, it's useful). Even my face is sore from all the talking I've been doing this past year.

I've had so many jobs since I started being Snow's object that I've actually lost count. I see the money enter my bank account, and just shrug it off now. I'm not growing attached to it, because it's so material, and I know it can be taken away if I make rash decisions with it.

Maybe I'll donate it to help build a better school in one of the poorer Districts, or something.

Apparently, Snow was very pleased with my first performance with Seneca. According to him, Seneca went to him mere hours after I was finished to apologize for making the arena so easy and to promise to make the next one much more exciting.

To think, I didn't even outright tell Seneca that the arena was too easy. Between techniques I made myself vulnerable, reflected my experiences, praised him for his genius while discreetly criticizing his lack of excitement in the Games. I myself don't know how I managed it but I very easily made sure an idea was planted in his head.

It was, to say the least, disgusting. Not to shame Seneca, the man himself is not bad. He seems quite levelheaded for a Head Gamemaker, and he's got some ideas that I think if implemented would be good (though those he said would be my secrets to keep). Attractiveness wise, he isn't bad off either. The disgusting part is how I had to free myself of boundaries, how I had to give myself so completely to him with anything and everything that he wanted.

He is a very demanding man, and in this case it wasn't a good thing.

But nevertheless my task finished and as annoyed as Finnick was with Snow for making Seneca my first assignment, he thinks I've secured my life and those of the people I'm protecting because I made the president very happy.

"Trust me, he's never been so satisfied with someone right away," Finnick assured me over the phone after Snow had mine installed and gave my District a generous amount of chickens as a reward for my actions. "Usually he warns you after the first time, since no one does so good."

"I just talked, said things, it wasn't even any different from how I usually put an idea into someone."

"You've been doing it for awhile, then. You, Morgan, you're a natural at inception. If you keep this up he'll never threaten you again."

"Well yeah... but I don't like it, Finnick. I really don't. It's so... yuck. I didn't even do it so... vigorously with Misha. And him I really was into."

Finnick let out a sigh. "I know, Morgan. It's difficult to get used to. You feel so controlled and so out of the loop on your own life. It's awful, really, the first few times. I used to feel so bad afterwards, I'd get drunk to forget about it. But we can't do anything. We just have to suck it up otherwise our loved ones get hurt. Don't worry, after awhile it won't be as bad... you'll stop feeling, it'll be just a routine and all you'll need to focus on will be the words and timing. Don't forget that as horrible as this is for us, we're keeping someone else safe."

I can hear the pain in Finnick's voice as he talks about it. I can simply imagine a seventeen year old Finnick feeling distressed and agitated after a session and having to force himself to remember that he was keeping Annie and Mags safe by accepting these circumstances.

After the 'Success With Seneca,' as Finnick calls it, I have received many more assignments— harder politicians that even Finnick has never been put to work on. Our many talks on the phone have allowed me to learn secrets I can't even believe he knows, and have helped me realize what a tricky game Snow is playing.

Me, the innocent prostitute, has to go plant ideas between sessions of pleasure in a way that won't suggest I'm manipulating the person. If they were to find out, Snow would clean his hands and execute me as if I were the mastermind behind the scheming, and not him.

Clever in the worst way.

Between jobs, I have managed to keep my spirits up by hanging out with Johanna, Blight, sometimes Raff before he died, Mrs. Vangsenn, and also the Allardyce's, who awhile ago welcomed a baby girl into their lives. The day she was born I made sure she knew what Griffin believed she'd be. Successful.

She's so damn cute.

Every now and then between traveling for jobs, I have also gotten to hang out with Finnick, who I meet sometimes after sessions. We mock things the Capitolians do while we are working, we share details about them that are blackmail in every aspect of the word, and even simply just talk about things that are unrelated to our jobs.

Finnick talks a lot about Annie and Mags. I can tell they're the two people he cares the most for in the world. Mags is like a mother to him. Annie, well... sometimes the way he talks to her suggests they may be romantically involved, but I've never known for sure, and I don't want to ask. He claims she's just his best friend and sister, nothing more, and that is eyes are firmly set on another girl. But everytime I ask about her, he won't say who. I think it must be Annie.

I won't say much about the Victory Tour because it sucked. Not only do I have to give speeches in districts where I killed both or one of their tributes, but I also don't get breaks. I'm gaining a reputation like Finnick, of having lovers all the time. Snow constantly sent messages for me to go to people before stopping at the next district during the tour, and by the time I reached the end at the Capitol and got to suffer through their awful parties, I was completely drained and probably must corrupted every important politician residing in the districts by then.

At the end of my Victory Tour, I chose not to head straight back home. Instead, I took up Finnick's offer to spend a weekend at a conference in the Capitol where many powerful people were present. Of course, we both worked it, but I was glad for his company.

"I don't know how you've done it for all these years," I said to him when we were finally alone in our shared dorm. "It's been five months and I've seen about... one hundred people already."

"You're Snow's favorite toy," he chuckled, coming to lay on my bed, which he insisted was more comfortable. "It's like a kid, they always love their newest toy for the first month then forget about them."

"Ugh I hope so, because this toy is already very used up."

"You can't get used up, Morgan darling," he said. "Otherwise you'll be considered broken."

"Mmm well I just need a break."

Now, I'm getting my break. But at that point I didn't actually need it as bad as I did just before Snow announced it for me.

My phone rings, and I lean my sore arm to my nightstand before picking it up. "Yes?"

"Rise and shine, darling," Finnick's voice chirps, and I whine impatiently and lower the phone from my ear.

"This early, Finnick?" I say.

"Well it's the Reaping and I was checking if you were awake. Jeez."

"Hmm, well thank you very much. I didn't want to hear your gross voice first thing but what's done is done."

"Oh Morgan you are a cruel, cruel woman," he sighs. "Breaking my heart like always. Say, Annie says she is up for hanging out today, she really wants to meet you. Of course she might feel differently after the Reaping and our arrival but maybe she'll still be okay to talk to you."

"I'm cool with that," I reply nonchalantly. In reality I am very afraid to meet Annie. She's Finnick's right hand, the person he goes to to talk about anything and everything. He and Johanna are close and he tells her a lot but even she doesn't know as much about him as Annie does. According to Finnick she can stay calm long enough to give very good advice. If she doesn't like me then she might not approve of Finnick being my friend. I'm concerned to put up a red flag for her because Finnick listens to her for everything and if I say something that Finnick might brush off but Annie thinks it crucial to note, I might lose his friendship. Am I scared of Annie? Sort of. She's like the love of his life, I'm pretty sure, with the way he talks about her. If they're secretly dating, she won't want me with him.

"Excellent!" Finnick says. "I'll see you later, then." He hangs up and I sigh, now forced to actually get up.

It doesn't take me long to get dressed. A simple summer shirt and tight pants with my new combat boots from the Capitol ought to be a nice easygoing outfit for the Reaping. I don't want to come off as a cruel mentor even though by the now the kids who are in the mix know me better than that.

I meet Johanna and Blight at the Justice Building. Mayor Allardyce has just begun to brief them on the seating arrangements, and apparently Blight is to sit between Johanna and I while I hold a seat next to Rupalia. I can see the pain in his eyes as he discusses the all-too-familiar sequence of the ceremony.

He and I are both mourning Griffin a lot right now.

Promptly at two o'clock, Mayor Allardyce begins to read about the history of Panem, just like he did last year. I distinctly remember how shaky his voice was before, out of fear that Griffin would be reaped.

Now all I can hear is pure pain. Sorrow. Because Griffin was reaped at the mere age of twelve and he didn't live to come meet his little sister.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the Mayor in the same unbelieving voice of last year. He clearly never thought so and will never think so again after losing his child. He then turns to us, and my skin crawls knowing he has to present us.

"These are our three remaining victors from District Seven," he says. "Blight Vindict, winner of the 56th Hunger Games." Blight stands and waves, then bows, as he should.

"Johanna Mason, winner of the 71st Hunger Games." Johanna stands up but does not wave, she simply bows.

Shit, what do I do?

"Morgan Reeves, our newest victor, winner of the 73rd Hunger Games."

I muster up my wits and stand, give an awkward wave, a mediocre bow, then sit down. But honestly no one notices how weird I just did that because they're all afraid for their children.

Mayor Allardyce then hands the microphone to Rupalia, who stands from her place beside me, ready to give her usual spiel.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She says happily, just like she did when I was in the crowd. "This 74th year is going to be exciting, I just know it!"

Rupalia goes through her usual thing, talking about the honor I have recently gotten to live in Victor's Village, and how someone might get to move in next to me if they win this year. I hate how she's spotlighting me, but at this point I'm sort of used to it.

"Now, it's time to pick our tributes!" Rupalia says, striding gracefully to the boy's glass ball. She reaches in, her eyes closed, and digs her hand in and pulls out a slip of paper.

The crowd draws a collective breath of agony, which makes my skin crawl because that's exactly what they did last year, almost like an automated response programmed into a robot.

"The male tribute for District Seven," she recites once she reaches the microphone, "is Gunnar Naysmith."

There is a loud scream from somewhere in the family section as a very scrawny, and unhealthy looking boy with dark hair and dark eyes steps out from what I estimate to be the fifteen year old section. He doesn't let the Peacekeepers lead him up, he just goes himself and appears on stage before me, next to Rupalia.

"Gunnar Naysmith," Rupalia says, looking out into the sea of young children who look up at Gunnar with pity in their eyes. "Any volunteers?"

No one says anything. No one. It reminds me of last year when no one dared volunteer for Griffin no matter how helpless he looked, and the very thought of it makes me mad, though I don't know why. It's perfectly logical that no one wants to give their life for someone they don't know at all or very well, but it's selfish. No one is kind enough to preserve this young boy even when such a terrible scream sounded when he was reaped.

"Very well, then," Rupalia says. She clears her throat. "Let's give a big round of applause for our male tribute!"

No one claps for Gunnar.

Rupalia sighs softly. "And now, the girls."

She strides to the glass ball with the girls' names, quickly draws a slip, and walks back to the microphone.

"The female tribute for District Seven is... Ashleen Elestren."

A loud sob is heard and I can distinctly see a woman collapse onto what I assume is her husband in the family section as a tall, blonde, but painfully thin girl appears from the sixteen year old section and comes up, her body shaking visibly as she joins Gunnar onstage.

"Ashleen Elestren," Rupalia says simply. "Any volunteers?"

No one does.

"Alright then," Rupalia says. "Then, let us give a round of applause for our female tribute!"

Once again, not a single person claps.

I'm too numb to clap.  
  


" _NO!" Daphne had cried as a Peacekeeper yanked me out and toward the stage. I'd watched Daphne collapse into Misha's arms, and Devan had to stop Gretchen from limping to me._

_"MORGAN!" Gretchen screamed. "MORGAN!"_   
  


"Morgan."

I'm snapped back into reality by Blight, who pinches me.

Mayor Allardyce had already finished reciting the Treaty of Treason in the short time I was lost in thought. The square was being cleared and Ashleen and Gunnar were pulled into the Justice Building to be allowed their goodbyes from family members.

Johanna gets up and waved for Blight and I to follow her around the Justice Building and straight to the train station.

"Now Morgan," she says, looking at me, "why didn't I stop to visit the tributes this time when I did for you?"

"Because you saw nothing in either of them." The answer comes immediately because it's true. I know I was much better fed than those kids when I was reaped. I was older, I had more experience in mills and with trees. Those kids looked like they didn't work, instead had school, and hadn't eaten a decent meal.

"It's unfortunate, but true," Johanna says. "You won't be able to have an approach yet. And even if we tried the same thing as we did with you, I doubt it'd work. No one would believe it a third time, it's become our signature trick that we can't use for at least a few years now."

I nod and follow Johanna and Blight through the sea of reporters and onto the train platform.

"I won't be going on the train," Johanna tells me, patting my back. "I know last time Raff went with us but I'm not up for it."

"It's okay," I sigh. "I don't mind."

She hugs me, then Blight. "Come back to me with gossip."

She then turns on her heel and leaves, at which point Blight sighs and goes into the train, me following him closely.

"So what, is Snow going to make you work while the Games are happening?" Blight asks.

"Jeez I sincerely hope not," I say. "But he seems like the type to."

"That's absurd," Blight says, shaking his head.

"Tell me about it," I huff.

About fifteen minutes later, we are joined by Ashleen and Gunnar, who seem to already know each other, because they're talking nervously but with an air of trust.

"Hello," I say, shaking their hands. Gunnar shakes mine eagerly and Ashleen gapes at me.

"You're so much cooler in person," she says, her eyes big.

"And hotter," Gunnar blurts out. He then covers his mouth. "I-I'm sorry, that was—"

I let out a chuckle. "It's fine. Come on, sit, eat, let's watch the other reapings, meet your competition."

They very eagerly go to the table and stuff themselves, and I don't mind, because it's clear they have never had a decent meal in their life. Blight lets me handle it, much more interested in reading a magazine than watching two kids eat.

After playing the recordings for them, we discuss the tributes we'd seen.

"I'm not feeling good about that big strong kid from Two," Gunnar says honestly. "The kids from Four look scrawny this year but the Careers are still strong with those kids from One."

"The girl from Five looks like she could potentially be a problem," Ashleen muses. "But I don't know."

"Not a bad thing to point out," Blight tells her. "Notice everything you can about these tributes because it'll give you an advantage."

"The girl from Eleven is so tiny," Gunnar says. "I feel bad for her."

I nod in agreement. Rue, I think her name was, reminds me of Griffin. Reaped so young.

"The girl from Twelve is impressive," Ashleen notes. "Volunteering for her sister. That's not something you see often from Districts like us."

"Good, you guys have made a point for many things," I praise. "You'll probably want to scout them during training too, just to observe their strengths."

"We're not going to have strengths," Gunnar mutters. "I can't fight to save my life."

"It's true," Ashleen says immediately. "He got into a fight at school once and lost."

"It happens," Blight says with a shrug. "Doesn't mean you can't learn. Now we'll use a similar strategy to the one Johanna and I used with Morgan last year. You will train, try out stations. Allow yourselves to learn survival skills, that's crucial. As we saw last year, Morgan could make a decent splint for Griffin when his collarbone was hurt because she spent time learning some first aide, right? Don't underestimate how important some skills will be."

"If you find something you think that with practice you might be exceptionally good at, make sure to tell us for private training so people don't know your skills," I suggest. "But try everything at least once."

They nod, and then ask to be excused.

Ashleen and Gunnar keep to themselves for the rest of the train ride, but when we arrive, Blight and I collect them. I'm surprised Rupalia remained in her room the whole time, but when she comes out to walk with us to the Training Center, I realize it's because she's been on the phone with Effie talking about her nice little pair from District Twelve. Typical.

As Ashleen and Gunnar are taken separately into the Remake Center to be plucked and polished to perfection, I'm approached by Griz.

"Hey!" I say, hugging him tight.

"Hmm, Morgan," he says happily, pulling away. "So good to see you again! Hopefully you will like the costumes Gliese and I put together for the Tribute Parade this year, we went with the paper."

"Oh, nice," I say. "I'm looking forward to seeing them."

He nods happily and leaves, and I'm only alone for a second before a strong hand taps my shoulder.

I'm expecting to see Finnick, but it's the mentor from One, Gloss. I met him at the mentor's conference, but we didn't really talk.

"Hello," he says simply, taking hand and kissing it. "The lovely Miss Reeves."

I instinctively blush and nod. "Nice to see you again, Gloss."

"I was wondering if you'd be available tonight to have dinner."

He's so smooth about it, so straightforward. I know what he really wants by the way he looks me up and down, but he doesn't know what my job is, so he must think he has to build up to it.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I will be available," I reply, offering him a half smile. "I believe I am meeting some of my fellow mentors."

"That's quite alright," he says. "I will see you tomorrow, perhaps, or after the Games begin. I do want to have dinner sometime in these weeks, or days if the tributes are as talented as you."

I find myself blushing. "I think I might—"

"She's going to be busy for quite awhile, Gloss."

Gloss and I both turn to see Finnick, who I have never seen look so annoyed.

"Is she, Finnick?" Gloss says, and immediately I sense there's some sort of tension between them.

"Oh I don't know," Finnick mutters thoughtfully, "I think she, Blight, Annie and I are going to be spending a lot of time together, so I doubt she can squeeze you in. Sorry."

Gloss moves forward to sneer into Finnick's face. They're the same height, so the sight makes me tense fearfully.

"I know exactly what you're playing at, Odair," Gloss growls lowly at him. "And it's not going to happen. You don't get to dictate whether or not I can take her out, so watch yourself before I shove my sword into your chest."

He then storms away, and I'm left to look at Finnick, wide-eyed and confused. "What the hell was that about?"

"Nothing," he huffs, though a smug grin is on his face.

"He was being perfectly civil to me..."

At this he frowns. "Don't even consider it, Morgan. He's twenty nine."

I flush red. "Oh, well... nevermind."

"Good," Finnick says, looking at Gloss's departing figure. "Now excuse me, I need to find my tributes. See you tonight."

He walks away without looking back, unaware I notice him pump his fist triumphantly in the air for some strange reason.


	13. Chapter 13

I don't get much down time in between waiting for my kids to be prepped and loading them up on the chariots.

"And he just pumped his fist in the air?" Blight inquires as we make our way down to the pit where the chariots are being brought in, and no tributes have arrived yet.

"Yes! It was the strangest thing," I say. "So strange..."

"Maybe he heard Gloss saying nasty things about you and just got overprotective. You're like a sister to him."

I don't know why Blight saying I'm a sister to Finnick makes my chest tighten and my emotions flare up. I suddenly feel like telling Finnick I don't want to be his sister, which would be weird because he hasn't mentioned that. I am not sure why I have this urge to tell him we don't have a sibling relationship, but I do and it confuses me.

"So what can you uh, tell me about Gloss?" I ask Blight instead of pondering on my sudden urges. "What's he like?"

"Personally I've never talked to him much, and neither did Raff. Johanna I don't know, but they definitely must have had a few conversations considering how appealed he is by brutal Games."

"Hmm, that must be why he talked to me."

"That could be one factor. But realistically, Morgan, he could be trying to find out if you're planning anything for your tributes. He wants to know if you're pulling a Johanna again."

"Is that what it's called now? How about, pulling a Johanna and Morgan. Or Jorgan. Wait, that sounds awful. Mohanna? No, even worse. Just... pulling a Seven."

He chuckles. "Okay, pulling a Seven. Gloss is a snoop. If he had been a mentor last year, he wouldn't have stopped until he finished scouting what Johanna was doing."

"So he's a snoop, is what you're saying?" I ask, sighing internally. "Great. People only want me for my body or for information."

"No they don't," Blight insists. "Look, he could have also found you very attractive."

"That's a big ew, Finnick said he's twenty nine. That's ten years older than me."

"Well Finnick is a bitchass liar," Blight snorts. "Gloss hasn't even turned twenty seven. Finnick knows this. He's not much older than him. They're just three years apart."

"Oh. Why would he lie about it?"

"He's trying to protect you. He thinks Gloss will hurt you."

"Well if Gloss doesn't know about my job, I don't have to give him anything, which means I can dictate what happens very well without requirements. And thus, I can be careful."

Blight frowns. "Gloss is still nearly eight years older than you."

"Jesus, Blight, I'm not saying I'm going to date him. But what's the problem with getting to know him?"

Blight smirks at this. "You thought he was hot, then."

"Ugh, shut up."

I move ahead of him, and wait by our strange horses with green manes, leaning onto one of them and stroking his back.

"Gloss isn't bad looking," I whisper to the horse. "Of course I probably wouldn't date him, but I have perfect liberty to say he's got a nice body and face. What does Finnick care about it?"

The horse nickers in response. I should be glad it's not a human reply.

"Hello there."

I turn around, and flinch. "S-Seneca."

The man is standing in a red suit, smirking down at me. I can't understand how he's taller than me up close; from afar he looks rather short.

"How have you been?" He asks, leaning on the chariot.

"I've been fine," I say, keeping myself calm. I am being flooded with memories of the night we spent together, the sharp words he used to get me to do things, how he demanded I please him, and how he'd asked me to keep his ideas secret.

"Excellent," he says. "Now, I think you'll be very proud of this year's arena. As simplistic as it may seem, it'll be a fun one."

I offer him a smile. "That's awesome, I'm glad to hear that."

"I have you to thank for that," he replies, moving closer. He puts his hand under my chin, tilting my head up to look at him.

"Everyone is here," I say quietly, feeling myself beginning to tremble. Why is he being so public about this? "P-People aren't supposed to know about my job."

"Well I'm not telling them, am I?" Seneca purrs, caressing my cheek and sending electric shocks down my neck and back.

"I'm going to get punished, you know that," I growl slightly, becoming agitated. "Because they'll think I'm getting an inside scoop."

He seems to like my response. "I can take over that punishment. All bad girls should be punish—"

"Seneca, isn't it high time you went to sit in the audience?"

I have never been to grateful to see Finnick in my life. His expression is deadpan, almost angry.

"Ah, Finnick," Seneca says, reaching to shake his hand.

Finnick doesn't take it. "I'm in charge of the workers and Snow never notified me of her having any jobs with you, therefore I ask you to leave her alone before I report you. You know President Snow doesn't want anyone to be aware of Morgan and I's jobs."

Seneca gulps, and I realize he was probably going to lie and say I had a job with him. "Of course," he tells Finnick. "My apologies."

He darts away and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You never accept anything unless Snow himself tells you," Finnick says, glaring at Seneca's departing figure.

"I-I know," I choke, feeling my whole body finally relaxing. "Thank you..."

"He isn't supposed to be down here at all. I am so sick of guys trying to hit on you."

I look up immediately. I don't know why this statement makes my entire heart jump inside my chest. "Y-You are?"

"Yeah, it's like having someone constantly trying to get in my sister's pants. It's really annoying."

I feel crestfallen immediately. A sister. Blight was right.

"I look forward to seeing you at dinner later," Finnick says with a smile, as if nothing is wrong. Nothing is essentially wrong, but at the same time it feels like everything is wrong.

I have no idea why Finnick calling me his sister makes me so sad.

He leaves and I stand straight, because now Griz and Gliese are leading Gunnar and Ashleen in, dressed in disgusting paper dresses and suits, or however I'm supposed to say that. The point is it's gross. Usually I admire Griz's handiwork but this is trashy.

"Wow," Blight says, conveniently materializing next to me now rather than awhile ago when I needed him. "Those are..."

"Very bad," Gliese says honestly. "I don't know what went through my head designing these. I suppose it looked better in my imagination."

"It's okay," I say, "it's not that awful. At least you tried."

I honestly don't think about how brutal that can be taken until Gliese winces.

But she takes it like a champ. "It was a learning experience," she says. "Next year, we will do trees again."

At least they go back to the safe option.

"I feel like a stripped chicken," Ashleen grunts as I help her and Gunnar onto the chariot.

"Yeah, the burning will subside later," I say, remembering back when I was completely waxed last year. Now, I have creams that keep me pretty much hairless because of my job. I don't think I've seen a hair on my leg in awhile.

Ashleen half smiles at me. "How do we do this? I'm really nervous... I don't think I can be smiley."

"Then don't be," I say honestly. "You can simply wave. I would definitely try to smile, but don't force it."

"Can I be serious?" Gunnar asks immediately. "I don't want to smile."

"Wave, be respectful, try and smile, like Morgan said," Blight offers. "Just be yourselves."

"That's not an easy task," Ashleen mutters under her breath, and I chuckle slightly.

The chariots begin to move a short while after, and Blight leads me to the enormous screens where the mentors will watch the procession.

I can see the kids from District One and Two are very well prepared. They look stronger than Silver, Titus, Tressa, and Atlas did last year. I have a feeling their mentors will have them strategize better, as splitting tasks is what allowed me to kill Silver and Titus right away.

When the cameras turn to Ashleen and Gunnar, I smile, because they are waving and smiling slightly. They look shy, innocent, but also genuine— playing it off like they are weak.

"Good approach on their part," Blight mutters. "We can hope they have some skills so they can go off of that. That innocence— that's too real. They can't think we're playing a trick with that."

"Part of me thinks they won't have the willpower," I admit. "They couldn't bring themselves to hurt someone. They'll be hesitant."

Blight nods. "They don't have it. But we will try."

That's when the monitor catches my eye again.

In the back, barely visible until the camera zooms in, there is fire.

At first I think that someone set the stupid chariot on fire and someone's dying or something.

Then I squint and realize the tributes from Twelve are literally on fire. They have flaming capes behind them, and the mentors let out a collective gasp.

"No way!" Griz cries behind me. "No, how did he manage that—?"

I look over and see that he's looking at the new stylist for Twelve, Cinna, who's just finished giving his partner Portia a high five.

That's genius.

All the mentors have their eyes fixated on the tributes from Twelve. They are radiant, they look powerful. Adorable with the smiles they offer, but badass overall.

That girl from Twelve has something my tributes don't. A willpower I can't sense in them.

She might be more dangerous than the Careers, and I decide I need to warn my tributes about her.

As the chariots fill the loop of the City Circle, the mentors begin to disperse and wait for their tributes to return around the back entrance, which is a bit aways from where they left.

I can hear the music stop, and I see I'm the only one still looking at the screen.

I stare in pure disgust as President Snow begins his usual speech. How he can be there, pretending to be a great man, when really he's a bastard who sells me to the worst people and threatened to kill my loved ones unless I complied, makes me sick.

When the national anthem plays after his spiel, I go back to where Blight is as the chariots begin rolling back into the Training Center.

As soon as Twelve's chariot enters the enormous room, the doors shut, and the pre teams and mentors are able to swarm their kids again.

"Hey!" I say, offering my hand to help Ashleen and Gunnar off the chariot. "That was good!"

"It didn't feel good," Ashleen relies, looking like she might throw up. "I wanted to throw myself off the chariot."

"That was me my year," Blight adds honestly. "Not a shabby job. You two were natural, real— all that we need."

"They think we're pulling a Mason," Gunnar grumbles. "I heard people saying that as we passed, my ears are sharp."

"You may or may not be," I say with a shrug. "It's not their business to know yet."

Ashleen coughs as Griz and Gliese work to start removing the top later of their outfits to lighten their load. "I doubt I can pull a Mason. I'm not good at anything."

"Let's talk about that behind closed doors, shall we?" I offer, giving her a tight lipped smile as we lead them out.

Zenobia, Savera, and Winnow are waiting for us just outside the doors, apparently having been too busy watching the District Twelve kids on a replay rather than coming to greet Ashleen and Gunnar.

"You were so amazing," Zenobia giggles, already with a specialized cloth in her face to wipe down Ashleen's face as we walk to the elevator.

"Zenobia darling, wait til she gets to her room," Savera says dismissively. "We must talk about those kids from Twelve! My god, Cinna is such an artist!"

"Thank you, he's not here," Griz mutters, and I smirk slightly realizing he's jealous.

"I'm sure you could have come up with that," I say. "But fire wouldn't do well in our district with all the wood. It's not your fault."

This makes him seem happier again.

When we arrive back to our room, Savera instructs Zenobia and Winnow to go scrub off Ashleen, while she goes to undo what appear to be several layers of strings on Gunnar's costume before he can go wash up. It seems Savera told whoever his prep team was that she could handle it, because taking over the task makes her look unnaturally satisfied.

"Morgan," Ashleen says once she and Gunnar are all clean and in pajamas. The two walk over to sit across from Blight and I on the couches. In the kitchen, Griz and Gliese appear to be very angrily hissing at each other about the costumes, while the prep team has already left.

"Yes?" I say, looking up at them.

"What'll happen tomorrow?"

"You'll both train. Here's the plan for that, just as a reminder— go and try everything. If you find something you think you'll be really good at, come and tell us and we'll train you privately."

"I'm not going to be good at anything," Ashleen groans, covering her face. "I never worked in the mills the way you and Johanna did— I stayed in school. The food here— its portions are about six times bigger than what I usually eat because my parents can't provide for myself and my five younger sisters and one older brother, who's just started working in the mills. I'm not ready the way you and Johanna were."

I move closer to her and take her hands. "Hey, don't let that discourage you. You will try, Blight will try, and Gunnar and I will too. We will try to make something work. You still have potential to be good at something, so don't lose hope, okay?"

She nods, and Gunnar taps my shoulder.

"I don't think I'll be good at anything," he mumbles. "But I promise to try."

Blight clears his throat and walks over to sit on the table right in front of them. "Good. If we all try, we can get somewhere. This process— this isn't easy. It took Morgan about five hours a day on top of collective training to get down her skills and that was hardcore, and she barely managed to learn it really really well before going in. These are the Hunger Games. Bloodthirsty and difficult. All that matters is you put effort. You want to win."

They both nodded. "Alright," Ashleen sighs. "I'm going to try and sleep."

"Okay," I say, offering both tributes a smile. "Go try and rest."

They leave, and Blight looks at me. "Are we still going with Finnick and Annie?"

"Yeah, of course, let's go."

"Oh, I was going to change clothes first."

"What's wrong with what you have?"

"It's very tight around my chest. I'll be back. Say, maybe you want to change too."

"What's wrong with what _I_ have?"

"You're wearing a summer shirt and some tight pants with combat boots. That's not dinner attire. Go put on a dress."

I groan because he's right, and I guess I do want to make a good impression on Annie.

Once I've changed into a not as revealing but still very sexy sapphire dress and curled my hair a bit, I meet Blight at the door. He changed into a looser button up that appears to be letting him breathe better.

We leave Griz and Gliese still bickering, and head down to the underground floor where food is set up for the mentors. We see Finnick waving us over to a table far away from the other mentors.

Now I feel like an idiot listening to Blight, because Annie and Finnick are wearing their comfy clothes from earlier.

"I am very overdressed," I announce as I walk up, feeling my cheeks turn hot because now I stand out so much.

"Not at all, darling," Finnick chuckles, taking my hand and kissing it. I can't help but immediately think of him randomly pumping his fist in the air after getting Gloss away from me, or him shooing Seneca away earlier.

"This is Annie." I extend my hand to the timid, frail looking red-headed woman beside Finnick. Her eyes go wide as she shakes my hand.

"Morgan," she says, her voice surprisingly steady. "I have heard so much. About you." She shakes my hand, and Finnick looks happy, like part of him expected us to attack each other on sight or something.

We sit and Avoxes come to bring our meals. I thank the young girl who hands me mine, and Annie immediately squeals.

"She likes people who are respectful," Finnick says very quickly, as if he feels the need to explain everything that Annie does so I don't get the wrong idea.

Blight chokes at this. "Sorry, I'm not used to saying anything to them."

"It's... okay," Annie says thoughtfully. "Not your fault." She hums and begins to play with her food, apparently needing to rip it up into shreds before putting it in her mouth.

"So, how was the parade for you?" Blight asks them.

"Oh, very cool near the end," Finnick says. "Those kids from Twelve— wow. That'll really benefit them. I don't think I've ever seen any district with tributes so radiant."

"Not even from One?" I ask with a chuckle.

"As you well know, District One is not my favorite at all," he says, and when he does he's not smiling anymore.

"But why?" I press, not realizing he might have a valid reason for disliking Gloss.

"They're a bunch of bastards who think they have a godly aura or something," he says. "They think any victor from that District is a supreme force or something. Gloss, he— he was supposed to be in the same situation as us. But he insisted he was too important as a mentor, and they let him."

"Hmm, so he probably did know what I worked in," I muse. "And here I was thinking that he had been hitting on me because he liked me, not because he wanted my services."

Finnick's eyes darken, making them look stormy. "Why would it matter?"

"Oh, Gloss definitely made his mark," Blight jokes.

"He's not bad looking," I say, shrugging. "Of course I don't think I'd date him."

"Yeah, he's twenty nine," Finnick says sharply. "You're turning nineteen in what, a few weeks, right? So he's _ten_ years older than you."

Blight snorts at this, and I distinctly remember him calling Finnick a 'bitchass liar' earlier. "He's turning twenty seven at the end of this year," he notes. "Still a decently sizable age gap but he's _not_ a decade older than her."

Finnick turns red, and it's Annie that gives him the distraction he needs.

"Chicken," she muses. "Chicken and chicken, strips! Strips, Finnick, I want strips _please_." He takes her fork and knife and cuts her chicken into the strips she wants. She giggles and begins to eat, humming again.

Blight is now staring strangely at Finnick. Finnick gives him a look I can't understand, but Blight's suddenly flicker mischievously and he sits back.

"Morgan, talk," Annie says, looking up from her strips of chicken. "I like to hear you talk."

I feel my cheeks turn red. "What should I uh, talk about."

"Your dress," she replies thoughtfully. "It's nice."

"Oh, thanks. Gliese made this particular one for me. She says it brings out my eyes."

"Your eyes are like Finnick's." She begins to laugh. "Except yours are a nice sea, Finnick's are a stormy sea."

Finnick blushes at this, and Annie claps. "Morgan, sing! Finnick, Finnick, you know she can probably sing nice don't you Finnick? Morgan, sing for us, you have a good singing voice."

"Honestly I've never tried to sing... not really," I say sheepishly.

"Well, try!" She says. "Sing— sing something."

"I only know lullabies," I say, feeling very put on the spot right now.

"District Seven's lullabies are nice," Blight says. "Come on, Morgan."

He's turned against me. I have never felt such behavior.

I gulp and begin to sing very quietly, a silly little lullaby about a baby bird unable to fly that my mother used to use to put Gretchen to sleep after she hurt her leg and had trouble sleeping.

Blight is smiling. Annie claps slightly, looking happily at me. "Finnick, I told you!" She whispers.

It's Finnick whose expression I can't comprehend.

He looks at me like he's confused at first, then there's a sort of wistful look. His eyes are fixated on me and I want to tell him to stop staring.

I finish singing and Annie claps again. "So good! So good! Finnick, Finnick, I told you I told you she could sing didn't I didn't I, I told you."

Finnick nods and clears his throat, looking down and continuing to eat without saying a word.

When I'm nearly done with my food, Annie whispers something to Finnick, and he looks briefly at me before sitting up.

"Annie wants me to make it clear that she's sorry she doesn't have much conversation," he says, and the look on Annie's face lets me know that that's not what she said, but she doesn't object. "She simply enjoys the presence of two friends, and that's enough."

"Well that's fine by us, Annie," Blight says kindly. "We enjoy your company too."

"We do," I say, setting my utensils down. "It was a lovely dinner."

"Let's do it again. Tomorrow!" Annie claps.

"Yes of course," Finnick says. He begins to speak a bit faster, almost urgently. "Every day this week, right after we finish training our tributes. And at midday too. How about we just take _every_ meal together except breakfast, how's that?"

I feel compelled to say yes, and I would either way because I like hanging out with Finnick and Annie, but there's some part of Finnick's idea that makes me feel strange, like he needs us to come sit with them or the world will self-implode and everything will go to shit.

It's Blight who seals the deal. "Of course. We'd love that, everyday as often as we can. Isn't that right, Morgan?"

"Yeah, totally," I manage, though I'm trying to figure out what made Finnick so urgent to settle this.

I notice he pokes Annie, and she squeals. "Yay, don't miss it! We won't."

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to see Gloss.

"Miss Reeves you look absolutely radiant," he breathes, looking down at me. I don't know why he's shirtless here in the food court but he is, and I can see very nice abs and toned muscles all over his arms and back.

"Thank you, Gloss," I say a bit quietly, trying to stop myself from staring at what appear to be rock hard abs. I really want to punch them and see how hard they are, or maybe try and dig my knife in. He looks artificial.

"I was wondering if I could ah, have dinner with you sometime this week."

"You already asked her Gloss, and I made it clear she's hanging out with _us_ ," Finnick says with fake sweetness, and he looks more furious than he did before. "Leave us be, will you?"

Gloss's jaw tightens and he narrows his eyes. I know he's remembering whatever he told Finnick earlier, though I already forgot. "I _will_ see you sometime, Morgan. I just want to talk, is all."

He walks away and I turn to ask Finnick what the hell that was about until I realize he's already leading Annie away.

"Finnick is so weird," I breathe as I stack our plates for the Avoxes to pick up.

"Is he?" Blight says, so innocently that I pick it up.

"What's with that tone? What do you know?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering."

He heads back to the hallway for the elevator, and I growl seeing Gloss has left now.

I don't know why Finnick's being such a cockblock. What do he and Gloss really have against each other?

Because he's just making me more determined to talk to Gloss and see what's going on.


	14. Chapter 14

"Wake up."

"Ugh, Morgan, five more minutes."

"Wake up, now."

"But—"

"Wake up or I will slit your throat."

Ashleen shoots up, holding her hands in surrender.

"Harsh," Blight says behind me.

"But effective," I counter.

I honestly don't know what to do with these kids. They both refused to get up, insisting that training was useless and they might as well stay in bed all day.

I don't take no for an answer.

Ashleen and Gunnar are complaining, but ready to go within the next fifteen minutes.

"Excellent," I say, brushing a few strands of Ashleen's hair into place.

"This is stupid," Gunnar grunts. "It isn't required for us to go."

"Blight and I dictate what's stupid or not," I say, fixing his shirt since he's put it on crooked.

After getting them to eat breakfast (which was no easy task) I get them to clean their faces and meet Blight and I at the elevators, which they also do very reluctantly.

"Now," I begin as I adjust Gunnar's shirt one last time while we lead them down to their training. "Remember, you have to at least try everything once, even if you don't think you'll be good at it. Try—"

"Look, Morgan, we get it," Gunnar says tiredly. "We don't even want to go. We'll try. But heads up, in case you haven't fucking noticed, we're not you, or Johanna. We can't do this shit."

"Don't give her attitude," Blight warns them. "She of all people understands what it's like to walk in thinking they have no idea how to do anything. She was just as knuckleheaded and talentless as you two, and we made her a champion. Same can be said for you."

"But we're tired of being told what to do!" Ashleen whines, crossing her arms. "We don't like being bossed around."

Blight looks annoyed at this. "It's almost like you don't care to win. We are your mentors. We are supposed to help you have a chance. But clearly you don't give a shit. Get out of our sight."

The instant the doors open, Ashleen and Gunnar leave, and Blight groans. "They've already accepted their deaths. There's nothing we can do."

"What?" I cry in disbelief. "No, we have to keep trying."

I could have never pictured Blight just giving up on someone.

"Don't get attached to them, Morgan, they are going to die."

"Blight, how can you just say that? They probably just... have low self-esteem."

"It's much worse than that. Do not let them get to you, otherwise you will be too emotional when they die."

"You didn't give up on Griffin and I!"

"In case you haven't noticed, you and Griffin cooperated and put in a FUCKTON of effort to make sure you had a skill. You didn't complain about training, you went along with it. Clearly they have no hopes."

I growl and cross my arms.

We haven't even made it back to our dorm when an Avox approaches me with an envelope.

I take it, and open it cautiously, finding a single white rose petal with words on it— "A car will be waiting for you outside. Come alone."

"Snow," I whisper, gritting my teeth as I tuck the petal in my pocket. I turn to Blight. "I have to go."

He frowns. "What could he want? You're off duty."

"Or so I thought... I'll see you later."

"What do I tell Finnick if you don't make it back for lunch?"

"The truth, Blight, why lie?"

I walk away without another word to him, heading back down the elevator and exiting, showing the petal to the Peacekeepers at the doors in order to be let out.

A car is indeed waiting for me. The door is opened from inside by another Avox, a smaller looking girl that must be new. I step in and smile at her, but she doesn't reciprocate the gesture in the slightest.

I don't pay attention to how long we drive. The windows are tinted so I can't see outside, which makes me wonder how the Avox girl knew to open the door when I came close. Maybe there's a secret hole to view the outer world.

The car stops and the Avox girl opens the door again. I step out and find I'm at Snow's mansion. A Peacekeeper leads me inside, through several hallways until I am inside President Snow's study.

The President himself sits in his chair.

"Hello, Miss Reeves," he says, looking up and smiling. "Please, sit."

Without a word I move to sit on the chair across from him. I hear the door shut, and my eyes linger on my hands for a moment to process what this might be about before I boldly look up. "You wanted to see me, Mr. President?"

His lips curl into a smile. "I did, yes. May I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?"

I recall what Finnick has told me about the President poisoning people. "No," I say. "It hasn't been long since I had breakfast. I'm fine, thank you."

He nods, leaning back in his chair. "How have you been?"

I'm taken aback by his question. What is this? Why is he suddenly pretending to care?

"How have I been, sir?" I repeat cautiously.

"Yes. How have you been, emotionally, physically, etc."

I try to calm my twitching fingers. "As well as can be expected. I am still sore."

"That is to be expected. It takes awhile to get used to it all."

It takes awhile to get used to it all.

How can he say that, when he's never experienced this? He has no idea what this feels like for me.

"Of course," I say simply, deciding it may be in my best interests not to argue on his point. "I still have to get used to it."

He nods and crosses his arms. "I happen to have heard yesterday that Seneca approached you."

That's what this is about.

"Really?" I inquire, actually curious. "How do you know?"

"Finnick reported him," Snow says. "I suppose you must have done your job very well for Seneca to invite himself to talk to you again. I apologize for this, I did not mean for it to happen." He swirls a glass to his right around, a small olive inside it spinning along the inner surface. "I told Seneca he must never approach you like that again. He could have compromised your title and that would have been a problem. As you understand, your job is to be kept secret. Not only did he almost make you a suspect of sneaky negotiations with Gamemakers, but he also almost made it known your body is being sold. I don't want anyone to know yours or Finnick's line of work because it'd compromise your positions as mentors, and I'd have to kill you, hmm, since you know so many secrets."

I nod slowly. That's to be expected. "Yes, Mr. President, I understand."

He smiles at this. "Perhaps Seneca was back for more of that... that thing you did, where you got against the wall... hmm?"

My blood turns cold. My skin is tingling with rage. He's been watching me, of course he has, how did I not know this? He's been making sure that I'm doing a good job.

"Oh yes, I observed," he whispers, his snake eyes glaring at me. "Just the first few times, every now and then depending on the client. Of course I allow you privacy with your little whispers to them, I know those are done well since you, my precious little toy, always manage to get them to do what I want. For that, you are one of my best workers."

"So what, I'm live entertainment for you?" I growl scathingly, feeling completely and utterly exposed.

"Oh not necessarily," he says quite honestly. "I don't get off on things like that, Miss Reeves. I have far more important matters that truly make me enjoy my life. No, I simply evaluate your performance to know if you're worth giving to more difficult clients. You learned skills quickly, you know how to improvise, and needless to say again, you are properly manipulative. It's funny the sounds you make those people make. That's the most vulnerable they'll ever be and you my dear, get to bring it to life. That's a powerful secret, eh?"

He's sick. He's sick, he's been watching me perform and he's trying to get me to think that I'm as sick as he is by bringing out the reality in people.

"All I care about," I snarl, my voice a little shaky, "is that Seneca Crane, nor any of my past customers, ever approach me like that in public again."

His eyes flicker with what looks like actual sadistic joy. "I can promise that. Don't you worry. I do appreciate how seriously you take your job, Miss Reeves, really I do. You know what I really like now? How much fire you have."

"Fire?" I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly.

"You are physically radiant, like it," he muses. "Your attitude, powerful, convincingly. But also, well contained. You are a controlled fire. That, I like very much. Not a spark of yours will go out of place, hmm? You're so well kept in line. You know your boundaries. That fire within you won't be causing problems, but it's what makes everyone so drawn to you. I've been having to deny requests from customers who want you a second time. They know only I assign things, I do not take in requests unless there is a benefit in it for myself and Panem. Yes, your fire is something remarkable. Don't let it spark too much."

I immediately assume he's mocking the fact he has me wrapped around his finger, that I can't do anything out of line unless I want to hurt a great deal of people.

"Yes, Mr. President," I reply calmly, finding my fists are balled up.

"One more thing, Miss Reeves," he says, leaning forward over the desk. "Do you have any lovers?"

I blink. "Of course not."

"Why such a quick response?"

"Please Mr. President, it's obvious. I'm a sex object. I'm accustomed to people wanting me for my body. No one wants me as anything else."

His lips curl into a smile once more. "Funny you say that because that's not what I think. All I am saying is that... if you consider wanting to have a lover, you are allowed."

This makes me indignant. "Oh, I just needed your permission, then?" I say snidely. "I shouldn't need your permission for that."

"Of course you needed my permission," he says smoothly. "I own you. You don't get to so much as cut your hair unless I have approved it from now on, unless you were to somehow end up back in the Games, which I sincerely doubt will happen again. I do have that as an idea for maybe the fourth Quarter Quell, the 100 year anniversary of the Hunger Games. So perhaps, but it's unlikely— I wouldn't make you participate, probably."

"You're sick," I growl.

"Thank you," he replies. "Now, to finish us off— I promise to make sure none of the customers approach you. You will receive a notice from me for any jobs. And you may have a lover it you wish, as long as it doesn't stray you from your job, understood?"

I nod. "Yes Mr. President." I say it through gritted teeth, because I want to shove an axe in his face.

"You are dismissed, Miss Reeves."

I walk out quickly, not letting the Peacekeeper lead me back to the car. The Avox girl opened the door for me and I practically threw myself in, just wanting to get back to the Training Center and forget this happened.

The car drove slowly, unfortunately for me, and I was forced to anxiously squirm in my seat while the Avox girl watched me.

I hated this, I hated Snow— I had to find Finnick and ask if this was some sort of trap. Did he even know that Snow could watch us? Could Snow have watched him perform? It was a sickening thought, that the President could tune in whenever he wanted to to degrade us, and watch us work as if our job wasn't entirely his fault.

When the car stops, I don't want for the Avox girl to open the door, I scramble out immediately and run straight up to the seventh floor through the stairs, finding Blight getting dressed for lunch.

"Everything okay?" He asks immediately.

"No, I just— no," I stammer, running to my room to get dressed. I just need to wait a bit, to tell Finnick and Blight in one sitting so I never have to repeat myself again.

When I'm dressed, I just wave Blight's questions away and walk down with him to the lunch area where Finnick and Annie are already sitting at the table from last night.

"Morgan!" Annie says happily as we come closer.

I offer her a smile. It's Finnick who senses something is off.

"What happened?" He asks immediately. "Did someone say something to you?"

I wait until Blight has sat down to quickly relay what I've been told, making it very clear that Snow's been able to watch my performances several times.

Finnick looks so mad it worries me. "Since when the hell has he been watching? We weren't aware of this! We have to be made to know when we're being watched— this is fucking ridiculous! Hell no! I— I need to go call Silka."

He gets up and leaves, and I sigh. "I'm sorry, Annie, I've made him leave."

"It's... okay," she says simply, eating like nothing is happening. "He is not happy. He is asking questions. He will be back."

I nod, and do my best to eat.

Of course this is fairly short lived.

A hand goes to my shoulder, and a figure sits beside me. "Morgan," Gloss says, smiling at me. "What a lovely surprise."

I find myself blushing. "Hey, Gloss."

"How are you on this fine day?"

"I'm as good as can be expected." He can't know about what Snow told me.

"Say, I was wondering, tonight at dinner they're—"

"Go away," Annie says flatly, and for a second she looks mad.

Gloss turns to her. "Ah, hello Miss Cresta, I'm sorry I didn't greet you before."

"Go away," she says again, shaking her head and stabbing her fork harshly into her salad. "Not here."

"I'm sorry," he says, furrowing his eyebrows. "Did I interrupt a private conversation? My apologies, I can come back—"

"No coming back," Annie stares at him so fiercely I'm reminded she is indeed a victor by skill and not chance. "Not here."

Gloss narrows his eyes at her. "And why not?"

"Just no," Annie insists, stabbing her fork again and making a loud scratching noise against her plate. "Go. Now."

Blight lets out a snort. What's going on? Did Finnick get Annie in on whatever his hatred is against Gloss? Annie doesn't seem the type to tell people to go away, and she didn't express any anger against Gloss before.

"You're taking Finnick's role, then," Gloss mutters. "Since he isn't here. Well, Cresta, I'm not going to hurt her, I'm just talking, surely you can understand that while Odair clearly can't."

Annie makes a small whining noise, wringing her hands together, and gets up and bolts away.

I stand, but it's Blight who sits me back down. "Morgan she's going to Finnick, he knows how to help her, don't worry."

I guess he's right. I wouldn't know how to calm her down.

"Strange," Gloss says. "She's always been decent with me."

"I don't know what happened," I say, shaking my head. "I hope she's okay."

"I certainly hope so too," he adds. "I'd hate for her to be in a panic because of me. I didn't mean to."

I offer him a slight smile. "So uh, what were you saying about dinner?"

"Ah yes." He moves closer, his body pressed very close to mine. "I want you to come eat with me. They're serving this delicacy only found in my District and I want to show you how to eat it properly." He puts his hand on my thigh and I find myself not only blushing, but leaning into his touch.

"Perhaps," I say softly. "No promises, I still am committed to my friends here."

"Aw are we not friends, gorgeous?" He purrs, and I feel my skin tingle.

"Mmm you never explicitly said anything about a friendship," I say cleverly, though honestly I don't remember if he did or didn't.

He puts his hand on my cheek, and slides it down my neck then up to tilt my chin at the perfect angle to look at him. I can sense Blight is laughing or something next to me but I don't let it bother me.

"We are friends," Gloss whispers, his blue eyes shining in the light. He puts his face closer to mine, our noses almost touching. "And we can be better friends..."

The hand he has on my thigh slides itself up, caressing my hip, before looping around to my lower back and sending electric shocks through my entire body. I can feel he's about to kiss me by the way he's breathing, and the way his eyes scan over my lips. He's leaning in closer with every second.

Gloss is then very abruptly ripped off of me, and the next thing I know, Finnick has punched him hard in the face and thrown him onto another table.

"Get the FUCK away from her," he spits, punching him again.

I launch myself forward as Gloss begins to fight back. "STOP IT!" I scream. "STOP IT!"

I yank Finnick away, and step between him and Gloss, because I know that Finnick won't hit him if I could potentially get hurt.

"You— you don't just do that," I pant, holding my hands out to keep Finnick back as he recovers. "Finnick— go— seriously."

He wipes his brow from the sweat and storms away. I turn and immediately take my sleeve to pat Gloss's face.

"I'm so sorry," I say immediately. "I don't know what got into him."

"I'm surprised you don't," he scoffs. "Look, I still want to have dinner with you. Finnick's jealousy isn't stopping me from that. Meet me at my table, or don't. I'll be waiting."

He leaves and I look at Blight, who's chuckling.

"What?" I inquire.

"Oh, nothing," he says.

________

Later that night, once Ashleen and Gunnar have thrown their tantrums about their loss of hope and beliefs that they're going to be the first ones dead, I head down to dinner.

"They didn't find a single skill!" I hiss. "They didn't even try anything, Atala told me they did ropes and traps all day with the kids from Twelve because they were scared to try the big weapons."

"I told you they're a lost cause. Don't get attached. They don't trust themselves, and they're not putting in effort. They're accepting death. That's not our fault. Just let it be. It's useless to try and fight it."

"Blight I don't want to just let them die! See, when we did that axe exercise—"

"They complained. They've never worked in the mills the way you did. Griffin was different, he was inspired by you. They— they don't have anything to look forward to but callouses on their hands, and too much effort on their part. Morgan, seriously, stop getting attached."

I go silent, and look down.

He shakes his head and walks into the dining hall. "So, are you going to sit with Gloss?"

"Do you think Finnick will be mad?"

"Morgan, what do you think?"

"Yes, probably. But I don't know WHY he's like that."

"What do you want to do?"

"Well I want to become friends with Gloss. I still want to be Finnick's friend. Gloss— he's probably going to be nothing more than a friend."

He chuckles. "Sounds like he wants more but you do you."

I bite my lip, and look over at Gloss's table.

"I'll see you later, Blight, I'm going to sit with him."

"Alright, have fun. But not too much fun."

I smile and go toward Gloss, taking a seat beside him. His sister, Cashmere, looks at me and smiles. "Hello Morgan. I've heard so much about you."

"Hello Cashmere," I offer, shaking her hand. "Unfortunately Gloss isn't much of a talker to me, so I can't say the same about you."

"Ah yes, my brother doesn't like to talk about his older sister," Cashmere says, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Hey, quit," he says, smirking as he hands me a plate and shows me the delicacy he described.

"That does look good," I muse as I try it. "Mm, it is delicious."

"You should definitely eat with us more often," Gloss says. "District One food is very underrated."

"Ugh, I agree, this is bomb."

We chat for awhile, staying in the dining hall late at night. Every now and then I see Finnick staring at us like hawk.

When Gloss kisses me, I hear a noise, and when I open my eyes after the heated session Gloss starts, Finnick and Annie are both gone.

"How about I walk you back to your dorm now?" He offers once we're one of the last ones left.

"Yes please," I say kindly, taking his arm and letting him walk me up.

At the end of the night he kisses me softly, and walks away without another word, leaving me smiling like an idiot.


	15. Chapter 15

The morning is the same as the day before. Ashleen and Gunnar have no motivation and no respect for anything that I attempt to tell them, which pisses me off.

"They've given up, I already told you this," Blight sighs. "You should give up too."

"I'm their mentor! I can't give up!"

"Look at Haymitch Abernathy! He gives up every year!"

"He's a fucking drunk, I'm not."

Later that day, and really every day that week, I spend my time in between meals sometimes chatting with Gloss, who gets very talkative when he's in his comfort zone.

Every lunch and dinner however, I spend with Finnick, Annie, and Blight. After what happened the second night, I don't want Finnick to be angry.

But it seems that he's angry either way. This entire fucking week he's been pretty rude and snappy, like he's mad at me.

"Could you please pass the seasoning?" I ask Finnick as we sit at dinner the night before interview day.

He pretends not to hear, so I ask again.

"You can reach it," he says sharply, not looking up from his food.

This seems to bug Annie. She frowns at Finnick and harshly grabs the seasoning before handing it to me. "Not friendly," she insists as she begins to wring her hands together. "Bad Finnick."

"Not friendly?" He scoffs, looking at her and not even bothering to look at me. "I'm friendly."

Blight says nothing. I want to ask Finnick who the hell shoved a broomstick up his ass, but Blight's silence is what encourages me to not do it because if he's not arguing for me, Finnick must have something else going on. I really hate how I can't read people very well, I'd rather like to know what Finnick's problem is.

"Not friendly to Morgan," Annie grumbles.

Finnick looks back down. "I am friendly to Morgan."

"You did not pass the seasoning."

"That doesn't mean I'm not friendly."

"But—"

"Annie it's okay," I say quickly, looking to Finnick. For some reason I hope he'll look at me, but he doesn't.

Of course, his mood and his obvious dislike of Gloss doesn't stop me from talking to him. If there was really a problem with him, he'd tell me, right?

Between training sessions with my tributes, I'll sneak to the dining hall and sit for a cup of coffee or something with Gloss, who's significantly more talkative when Finnick's looming self isn't around.

Gloss is a passionate person, and it becomes clear when he talks about his tributes. He has such plans for them, wants them to succeed so much, and trusts me enough to mention strategies he wants to try with them. Part of me can't help but remember that in an alternate universe he would have directly mentored Silver and Titus, the two tributes I killed last year.

But he doesn't seem to hold anything against me. Of course, Gloss killed his fair share of tributes to be a mentor at this very moment. But even so, he doesn't seem to hold my nickname against me. While many other mentors refer to me as 'The Murderess' whenever they need anything from me, Gloss has always made sure to refer to me as Morgan, which I really appreciate.

This week has gone by fast. Today is interview day, and now Blight, Rupalia, and I are running our final interview prep sessions with Ashleen and Gunnar to make sure they're ready.

"Griz and Gliese are setting up your outfits in your rooms," I say as we sit in a circle. Ashleen nods slowly. "Any last questions?"

"Is my family dead?" Ashleen asks. "Or is there any news I should be aware of before I go onstage?"

I feel a pang in my heart. I know she's asking because all of Panem watched my reaction to my family's death live.

"No," Blight says firmly. "Your family isn't dead." He says it so sternly that it's clear he's chastising Ashleen for even asking the question.

Her eyes widen. "Oh Morgan I'm sorry— I was just—"

"It's fine," I say quickly. "Now what did we establish?"

"Just be ourselves," Gunnar muses I enthusiastically, crossing his arms and not looking up at any of us. "Speak clearly, and don't try and fake an aspect of our personality. But also, be sweet."

"Good," Blight intervenes before I can say anything. "What did Rupalia teach you about posture?"

"That it's important," Ashleen responds. "We have to seem proper even though we're not and never will actually be proper."

"Nonsense, you're quite naturally proper," Rupalia trills. "I've coached other tributes who eat like little pigs."

This is probably meant to make Ashleen and Gunnar feel better but it doesn't. They wince, and so do Blight and I, because we, unlike Rupalia, understand that past tributes are typically from poorer parts of our district, and not only are they starved, but also overworked at the mills. They develop bad posture from all the lumber work, and it's sort of irreversible.

Rupalia smiles as though nothing is wrong. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Now off you go! Get dressed!"

She claps her hands and Ashleen and Gunnar dart to their rooms immediately.

"Do you think they're ready?" I ask Blight nervously.

"Of course not," he scoffs. "They don't care enough to be ready. They've been enabled to complete their interviews in a timely and organized manner, but I doubt they actually feel or are ready. Most people aren't— it's usually the Careers who hold an advantage in interviews. They're so used to the idea of being put on the spotlight that it comes naturally to them."

I nod. Rupalia stands up and heads to the kitchen to get a drink, and I move closer to Blight. "So, mind telling me what's going on with Finnick?"

He looks lazily at me. "Please, haven't you figured it out?"

"Blight you know I'm very bad at reading people."

"You lack focus on things related to emotions," Blight notices. "It's not your strong suit. Sometimes you aren't in check with your own emotions."

"And that means...?"

"Nothing. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. It just explains why you simply can't figure out why Finnick is acting the way he is."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Depends how you perceive it. What are you and Gloss, anyway?"

The question makes me blink. "What? What do you mean? What are we supposed to be?"

"I don't know. Do you have a label?"

"He's my colleague and friend, Blight."

"Not your boyfriend or anything?"

"God no. Please, I hardly know him. I wouldn't go for him that fast."

"That makes me happy to hear, Morgan. Try and keep it that way."

"Why? Is there something about Gloss that I don't know, or something?"

"Half his life story," Blight snorts playfully. "But seriously, there are no secrets about him."

"Alright...."

Later that night once Griz and Gliese have fixed Ashleen and Gunnar up, they do the big reveal.

Ashleen looks intimidating, which is more than I could have hoped for with her. Her makeup is dark and her face is well defined, though I suppose it helps that she's underfed in general and has bones sticking out all over the place in general. Her blonde hair is curled in tight coils and flutters like ropes of honey around her head and over her shoulders. Her skinny frame is fit into a tight, floor length dress the same color as the sky with an ungodly amount of cleavage, that surprisingly doesn't look bad considering how bony her chest is especially. She is about four inches taller with her heels now, and looks so confident I'm proud.

Gunnar, meanwhile, looks like your average pretty boy. So much, that he reminds me of Benjamin O'Hara. His dark hair is elegantly slicked back so he resembles a hedgehog a bit, and his dark eyes are made to look lighter from how defined his face is with the makeup he gets on him. He wears a suit that is as shiny as a coin, and he almost looks like a quarter, except of course he isn't the slightest bit round. He looks sneaky, almost, and like he breaks girls hearts on a daily basis. It's so unlike Gunnar that I hardly recognize him.

"Interesting choices for outfits," Blight says, and his tone makes it clear he disapproves. "This might clash a bit with our approach for them. They're supposed to look innocent."

Griz and Gliese take it as a compliment, and bow. Rupalia squeals and goes to check out Ashleen and Gunnar's faces. "So cute! Let's head down."

__________

Later that night once the interviews are finished, Blight and I head down for our final dinner with Annie and Finnick before the Games really begin.

I'm wearing a simple but very revealing golden dress, and eyes scan all over my figure as we walk in. I have to admit I'm uncomfortable, but I don't voice it as we go and sit down.

"Kids looked so pretty," Annie says immediately as I take my place across from her. "Dresses, nice. Suits, good."

"I agree," I say with a smile. "I especially liked what the girl from Twelve wore. Cinna has really outdone himself."

"It's easy for stylists to make a person look more appealing when they already have it," Finnick mutters.

He doesn't so much as look at me, and I frown. "It, Finnick?"

"That passion, natural talent, and drive needed for a person to go from tribute to victor," he says, still not acknowledging the fact that he's talking to me. "That girl has it."

"Okay," I say. "I suppose so, but Cinna in general is an amazing stylist. He's so new, so fresh."

"Why don't you go chat him up, then?" Finnick snaps. I flinch, and Annie scoffs.

"Finnick, so bad," she says sternly, shaking her head.

"Hmm." He just shrugs and picks angrily at his food, like a kid that's being forced to eat broccoli.

I swallow hard and look back at Annie. "So, how do you think your tributes did?"

Annie is about to speak when Finnick stops her. "Don't try and get inside information," Finnick growls, and for the first time in a few days, he looks at me. Directly, at me, too. "You did this last time and you're going to do it again."

"Excuse me?" I snap. "I never tried to get inside information."

"Yeah, that's why you were all over Benjamin, kissing him and making him have lunch with you."

"I actually gave a shit about him, Finnick, he was my friend—"

"I don't trust you," he says through gritted teeth. "You'll just go and use information on our tributes to benefit yours."

"No, I would never do that! I wouldn't stab you in the back like that!"

He scoffs. "Yeah right, like you haven't already."

"What the fuck is this about?" I say, feeling my chest tightening.

"You're a sneak mentor, you're just trying to get information on other tributes," Finnick says. "Why else would you be hanging around Gloss?"

"What is your problem with him? He's my friend, and I'm getting to know him."

"Oh sure, getting to know him." He makes a motion to mime something utterly disgusting, and I feel my entire face burning.

"How dare you," I growl. "You know it's not like that— I haven't been doing anything like that with him."

"Sure, that's why you always let him have his hands all over—"

"Stop!" Annie slaps her hands on the table. "Stop! Not nice, Finnick!"

"I'm not doing anything, Annie," he says matter-of-factly, like she's insulted his pride.

"Stop talking," Annie insists. She looks at me. "Tell. About them."

I take it as her wanting me to talk about my tributes. "I-I think they did okay. Blight's made it clear to me that they really don't have motivation, so I'm worried. I just— I get scared that they're going to die right away. It's making me anxious."

Finnick scoffs so loudly I drop my fork. "You're anxious?" He says a bit cruelly.

"Yes," I say firmly. "Is that a problem?"

"You're weak," he snarls. "How are you going to let that make you anxious?"

I feel like I've been slapped in the face. "Finnick, this is my first year as a mentor, I—"

"Am weak," he finishes scathingly. "You don't have what it takes to be a good mentor— you never did. Here you are flirting with Gloss every goddamn day, building up that connection just to let him take you later—"

"I am not going to let him take me!"

"—instead of helping your tributes—"

"I have been helping them, goddamnit!"

"— and leaving them to be doomed," he finishes, having ignored everything I tried to say. "You're a fucking awful mentor."

"I'm doing my absolute best!" I shriek, feeling tears actually pooling around my eyes. "I'm trying, I swear—"

"Yeah right," he growls. "The only thing you're trying to do is make Gloss be very well informed of how many positions he has available to use on you."

"Finnick!" Annie cries, her eyes wide and her hands shaking.

I angrily swipe my food tray to the floor and stand. "Fine, fine, I just won't give a damn anymore," I spit, storming out of the room.

I can hear Annie crying something to Finnick, and can vaguely make out the noise of a fork scraping very hard over metal, but I don't turn back. I simply dart out furiously, wanting to scream. What the hell is his problem? Why is me being with Gloss causing so much of an issue that he's venting all his anger out on me?

I'm wishing more than anything that I could stick my axe in Finnick's face.

________

The next morning, I wake up early to see Ashleen and Gunnar one last time before they're taken away on the helicopter, and manage a small glimpse of them before Griz and Gliese escort them away to travel to the catacombs.

I didn't sleep well last night. I was so angry I practically laid down in an angry fit the entire time.

I take my time to shower and dress, letting the water cleanse my angry body, and remove any specs of dirt that might be there solely because of all my tossing and turning all over my room.

I stand in front of the mirror for a long time, looking at my tear stained face that is still very prevalent despite how many times I've washed it.

I feel devastated. Finnick is one of my closest friends and for him to be this angry at me hurts. It's too much for me to handle and I wish it wasn't like this. The tension and his snapping make me feel self conscious. As much as I know it isn't my fault, I feel like an absolutely awful friend. And the way he's treating me is so degrading. It's like I'm just another prostitute to him, and like I was never his friend that he trusted so much.

When I finally manage to get into simple black pants and a tight emerald green tank top, I meet Blight in the kitchen to eat before we head down to the Training Center, where a lounge has been made for the mentors to watch the bloodbath on an enormous screen.

"You didn't sleep well," Blight notices as I sit across from him.

"No," I mutter. "It was hard to."

"Look... Finnick just cares."

This makes me want to blow a fuse. "He cares? If he cared he wouldn't be treating me like shit, Blight."

"Finnick is a difficult person— he doesn't express emotion well."

"I don't give a damn. He doesn't have the right to treat me like that. If he has a fucking issue with me talking to Gloss, he needs to communicate that with me and not be expecting me to figure shit out. That's the least of my worries. Besides, Gloss makes me happy. And what's more— he's just my friend! Am I not allowed to be his friend?"

Blight just stares at me. "You'll understand eventually, Morgan."

I grit my teeth and eat without another word to him.

Once we head down and find ourselves among the other mentors, my eyes scan the crowd.

Gloss and Cashmere sit on a couch nearest the screen, whispering urgently to each other. I decide this isn't the time to go talk to either of them.

My eyes then find Finnick's figure. As Annie sits on a seat in front of him, he stands, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed, a deadpan expression on his face.

I'm not sure why, but my immediate perception of him is attractive. Of course, I always knew he was attractive, that's just his trait— but the word comes to mind instantaneously when I see him.

I shake my head. He's being a dick, and that's not attractive.

I walk forward, and I go to stand nearby Finnick. He looks at me, and turns away like I'm the last person he wants to see. I let an angry puff out of my mouth and gaze up at the screen.

Thirty seconds left.

Blight comes to stand with me, and he looks intently at the screen, his eyes quick to look over the small shots of tributes to find where ours are. "There," he says, his fingers splitting to a V to point simultaneously at Ashleen and Gunnar, who are a bit far apart on the screen, suggesting they are nowhere near each other on the little metal circles they must wait on.

Twenty seconds.

I nod, and look at the screen showing a wide pan of the arena.

It's a forest. A green, familiar forest that almost makes me feel at home. Tall, built trees are all over the outer ring of the Cornucopia. It reminds me exactly of the mill where I work in, and it looks so innocent.

My mind immediately drifts to Seneca Crane. What secrets lie within the trees? Is the forest merely a cover up, a simple design made to conceal truer and more horrific aspects of the arena? Have my actions with Seneca on the orders of President Snow doomed my tributes and the others by making the arena something they may not survive?

Ten seconds.

I have to force myself to peel my eyes away from the screen showing the full arena, because I'm paranoid and overthinking. Beside me, I can see Finnick's muscles twitching every now and then, like he's forcing himself not to move. Considering how pissed he's been, he might be holding back from backhanding me or something. I don't doubt it's something he'd do in these circumstances.

Five seconds.

Gloss is staring at the screen, expecting carnage, and he looks excited.

Four seconds.

Blight is biting his lip and fidgeting, and he seems hopeless.

Three seconds.

Annie is trembling, and she looks more afraid than I've ever seen her before.

Two seconds.

Finnick stands straight, his eyes focused and gazing intently at the screen.

One second.

Every muscle in my body feels like it's on fire. Because in an instant, the gong rings, and I see everyone bolt out of their metal plates.

This year, no one explodes. No one is shot sky high from a premature reaction. I see tributes sprinting left and right to the Cornucopia, though some simply grab a pack nearby and head straight for the woods.

My eyes fixate on the screen showing Gunnar. He's pretty fast as he heads straight for a pack.

In an instant it all changes and I have to clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from making any sound. I watch as the tribute from Two, a muscular boy who I recall being named Cato, grabs him from behind, places his hands on either side of his head, and snaps his neck mercilessly.

Blight hisses beside me. My whole body feels rigid and I sway on the spot, tears already streaming down my face.

So much for my shower.

I know it's useless to hope as I turn to the screen showing Ashleen. And I'm right, because soon enough the girl from Two has thrown a knife straight into her forehead, and there falls the thin girl who was so hopeless to begin with.

I stagger back, my body colliding with the wall. Finnick looks lazily at me, observes the tears cascading down my face, and snorts.

"Suck it up," he mutters harshly. "You can't actually let yourself be weak."

I stare back at him indignantly, my hand still tight over my mouth, although it's shaking. First he says I'm weak and now he's trying to influence me not to be weak?

"Jesus Christ," he growls, turning fully to face me. "Suck it up." This time he says it so much harsher, like he's actually furious with my brief display of deep, devastated emotion. "No one wants their item covered in tears."

My chest tightens so much that I physically let out a loud croak and have to remove my hand to breathe. Finnick, for an instant, looks like he regrets saying that, but he doesn't take it back.

I know immediately that really, that's all I am to him. Just another prostitute he works with and has to see every damn day.

I sprint out, and no one follows me. I'm gasping loudly for air, and I want to throw myself into a pool and just drown and never see another day.

I'm a useless mentor, for one. And two— I'm insignificant— completely and utterly insignificant to someone I cared about and who I thought cared about me too.

I crash into the nearest wall, croaking and panting and crying, my whole body shaking violently as I try to calm myself down. But I can't, I can't breathe and I can't think.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I freeze in place. I'm not calm, but I immediately stop crying.

I turn around slowly to see Gloss.

"Oh god," I say, wiping my eyes. "No— go back, go watch your tributes— I'm fine."

"No you're not," he mutters. "I don't know what the hell Finnick said to you but you're clearly not fine."

I shake my head. "Gloss just— I don't want to take up your time."

"You're not. I'm glad to do this."

He puts his hand under my chin and lifts it so I can look at him properly. He takes his sleeve and wipes my cheeks tenderly, and I gulp.

Next thing I know he's kissing me, and I'm so angry that I kiss back, and within few seconds I lose track of everything, completely intoxicated with the kiss— so intoxicated that I don't object as he drags me into the nearest room and locks the door.


	16. Chapter 16

I wake up slowly, my eyes barely able to open fully from all the light streaming into the room. It's blinding, like I'm experiencing the resurrection of Christ in full HD.

I sit up cautiously, checking if my body is injured in any way. It's my automatic response. I feel sore, and I don't immediately remember why.

I crack my neck then turn, and freeze immediately.

I am naked. I am naked and I am in bed with Gloss, who is also naked.

I don't remember right away what transpired, and I'm caught off guard. I look wildly around to deduce I'm in his dorm, considering the multitude of fine decor and glittering objects.

"Shit," I whisper. I very slowly scoot to the edge of the bed, and drop my legs out to graze the carpet. The sensation should be calming since carpeted floors do that to me, but this sends full panic through my body.

How long was I in here? I can't remember. If the viewing of the bloodbath was in the morning....

I can't have possibly been here all day.

I check the clock and almost choke on my own saliva.

Three pm. I've been here for a good amount of hours, assuming it's still the same day.

My head aches as I stand, careful to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around my body.

I've just crept forward to gather my clothes when someone clears their throat.

"Why cover up now? I've already seen it all."

I want to stab him. I turn around looking indignant. Gloss is smirking at me, and he looks me up and down. "Good afternoon, Morgan."

"Gloss," I reply stiffly. "What uh, what happened?"

"You were screaming my name for the past few hours before I was finished with you," he says simply.

Before I was finished with you.

The way he says it sends a very visible chill up my spine.

He chuckles at this. "Oh yes, you might not remember but you were just begging me for more."

I turn red, and I shake my head. "T-That was a mistake. I shouldn't have."

"Oh, but you wanted to," he insists. "You let me please myself with you."

"Stop talking like that," I say, shaking my head, my hands beginning to tremble. "Making it seem like you just used me."

"But isn't that what your job entails?" He says simply. "Being used?"

I feel my skin crawling. "Excuse me?"

"Come now, Morgan, you can't have seriously expected me to give you any authority here. You're nothing but a prostitute."

I want to throw up. "B-But you— you flirted—"

"With you, yes," he agrees. "Doesn't mean I meant it. I thought you of all people would realize that."

I feel like such an idiot. "B-But—"

"Morgan," he says, as if I'm a child to him. "You can't have seriously thought I had feelings for you. You're a prostitute, and one simply doesn't catch feelings for them."

"B-But you and Finnick and—"

"Silly girl, Finnick knew what I was here for," he says, smiling mischievously. "And you just gave yourself to me. Finnick knew that I had heard of how legendary your skills were. I needed to see for myself."

"So all that—"

"Meant nothing? Mhm. Please, Morgan, you would have shooed me away if I tried to pay you for this because you can't accept payment unless Snow mandates it. But gaining your trust and encouraging you to give yourself up to me... that was easy and ensured I'd get you all to myself without problems."

I stagger back. "Y-You're fucking joking. You— You took advantage of me."

"No, you were just too stupid to realize what I was doing. You're barely eighteen and you trusted me, someone who is almost ten years older than you, and much more experienced than you."

"I-I didn't think the age mattered b-because I thought you cared—"

"I wouldn't stoop that low even for a hot prostitute," he scoffs.

"I— I was in an emotional state and you—"

"I saw the opportunity and seized it," he says maliciously. I'm becoming afraid of him, and stagger back again only to get my back pressed against a wall.

Gloss gets up and strides forward, his body blocking mine from any escape. He slams his hands on either side of my head and I swallow hard, forcing myself to look at him.

"You better not make me out to be a criminal," he snarls, his eyes dark and full of malice. "Because I have footage of you consenting and that my dear, will be your undoing."

"Get off of me," I hiss, my body trembling. "Get off—"

He abruptly wraps his hand around my throat and I choke, my eyes widening in fear as I look at him.

"Say it," he growls. "Promise me now that you won't try and incriminate me. Because then everyone will know how stupid you are."

I choke again and try to push him off, but my hands against his chest just make him angry.

In an instant he's punched me twice and thrown me violently against the floor.

I cry out in pain and cover my face, cowering before him in an attempt to get him to leave me alone.

"I swear I won't make you out to be a criminal!" I sob, feeling my tears mixing with blood and dripping onto the carpet. My eye feels swollen and my nose is definitely broken.

"Good girl." He picks me up and I freeze, making him chuckle lowly as he presses a kiss against my lips. "Now go on now, keep enjoying the Games. Oh wait, you won't, because you couldn't keep your tributes alive."

He carries me out the door, throws me on the ground roughly, then locks me out. I still have the blanket around me and my clothes in a heap tucked under my arm. I probably look awful— a literal bloody mess.

Betrayal. That's the only word that could possibly do justice to how goddamn awful I feel, and why I have the need to drive a rusted axe into Gloss's face and destroy the falsified look of an angel that I was idiotic enough to fall for.

I suck up my need to cry more and get up, moving as quickly as I can back to my dorm.

But as luck will have it, I end up being spotted.

It's Annie who finds me in the elevator, and she lets out a loud shriek. "Morgan! Hurt!"

"I-I'm fine," I choke, the doors beginning to close.

But no, I'm not even that lucky to be left alone with Annie.

A strong arm swipes on the door and opens it, and Finnick steps in.

He has to do a double take on me, clearly not expecting me to be all bruised.

"What the hell happened to you?" He says. But his voice is still bitter. I can tell from the way he's breathing that his tributes must have died— which would explain why they're coming back into the elevator right now and not later. Finnick looks slightly concerned, but it's not a comforting sight.

"N-Nothing," I manage, swallowing back tears that are threatening to stream out.

"Gloss," Annie says, furrowing her eyebrows.

It happens so immediately that I can't stop it. Hearing his name I begin to cry, and Finnick tenses very visibly.

"He— he hit you— and you're naked—" he starts.

"Yes!" I say angrily, looking up indignantly. "That's exactly what happened! Are you happy? Happy you can say 'I told you so'? Because just fucking say it if you're going to. He just saw me as a prostitute, same as you!"

He looks guilty, but I don't dwell on it. He opens his mouth to speak. Maybe it was going to be an apology, or maybe he was going to argue back. But the doors open to the fourth floor and Annie runs out, clearly crying. She, I know is sad for me. Finnick hesitates but runs after her.

I'm glad. Because I don't want to hear what he has to say and I don't want to see him.

When the elevator stops at the seventh floor, I sprint to the dorm and run in, finding it empty. I've never been more grateful to be alone— so no one can see me.

I bolt to my bathroom and lock the door, turning on the shower before rummaging in the medicine cabinet we mentors have available.

Of course it's empty. Even I thought we might have something available, but we don't. I cry out in fury. My fingers tangle in my hair and I find myself pulling angrily. In the mirror I can see my bloody face contorted in anger and self-pity and sadness. I want to go home, I want to be anywhere but here— because here I have to accept how stupid I was to trust Gloss. How could I have seriously thought he cared? I was such an idiot.

It's not long before someone knocks on the door. I open it to find Blight, and he rushes in to examine me. I try and protest but he holds me steady and cleans my face, before handing me a small bottle.

"I picked this up along the way," he mutters as he urges me to drink. I do out of his peer pressure, and instantly my nose feels like it burns more.

"Ah!" I cry, shaking my head and choking out another sob.

"Shh, it'll make you feel better," he mumbles. "Come on, we're leaving right now."

"W-What?" I whisper.

"We're done this round, we can go home, we can finish watching from home, it's fine. Get your things."

He turns off the shower and I run to my room to gather my things. In an instant Blight is beside me helping me pack, and he leaves only briefly to get his bags ready.

It doesn't take him long to get me prepped before he helps me get dressed (because I'm still naked) and then takes me out down the hall and to the elevator.

I ignore looks as I pass down the halls, knowing that despite the blood being gone, my eye and nose are still swollen.

Blight hurries to get us to the train station, and within ten minutes he's arranged for a train to be speeding us back toward District Seven.

It's not until we are seated fairly comfortably in its lounge and that I have stopped crying that Blight asks me for details on what happened.

"It's— just— everything," I mumble. "How naive I was. I was just— stupid."

"Finnick called me to say something happened with Gloss. What did he do to you?"

His comment takes me aback. "Finnick called you?"

"Yes, he said he and Annie had seen you in the elevator and that something had happened."

I grit my teeth. And before I know it, despite what I really want, which is to forget this ever happened and never ever think about Gloss again for as long as I live, I'm suddenly spilling everything to Blight.

I appreciate how good of a listener he is. He remains calm and collected as he listens to me complain about Gloss and about myself. He doesn't judge as I describe how it all happened and what Gloss told me I did. He holds my hand as I admit how Gloss hurt me with not only his confession but his two punches.

"I'm so sorry Morgan," he whispers. "I didn't think Gloss would do that. I thought when he was flirting with you that he was trying to make Finnick jealous, not just get in your pants."

"It's not your fault at all," I say immediately, shaking my head. "I was the stupid one, I did this to myself. I fucking trusted him when I shouldn't have."

"Morgan, anyone else would have easily been fooled. Don't hold this against yourself."

"Well I do!" I cry. "I just— I practically enabled him to take advantage of me!"

"You can't change the past. This— this is a learning experience. And plus, can't you tell Snow?"

"Snow doesn't give a damn about me and he isn't going to do shit about it," I say bitterly. "He'll laugh or side with Gloss. Besides, Gloss has footage to make me seem like I consented."

"That's just disgusting," Blight growls.

I shake my head and cover my face. "How did I not know? How stupid can I be?"

"No one else might've been able to tell what his real intentions are. Hell, he had me believing he really liked you and I thought I was more observant than that. I'm sorry—"

"Blight don't apologize, you didn't get me hurt. I did this to myself— all to myself."

"Morgan listen to me, he wanted something and he... prides himself on getting his way. He might have found a way to hurt you regardless. He might have paid Snow himself just to get to you. And he could have. But he chose to do it the way it'd hurt you most— to gain your trust and break it. HE chose to do that— he chose to hurt you like that. He had all these malicious intentions and he clearly was set on carrying them out. This isn't your fault."

I shake my head again and slump backwards onto the couch. "That doesn't change the fact I'm completely and utterly stupid. And Finnick— God, Finnick! I trusted him."

Blight winces. "Look, Finnick was definitely being a dick to you but somehow I think there's more to this—"

"No." I stand suddenly, gritting my teeth. "No, he's just like Gloss— he's possessive and he thinks he can play me. All I've ever been to him is a prostitute. And— and, like a sister to him! He doesn't actually care about me!"

"I assure you he does," Blight insists. "Finnick is just—"

"Don't excuse him, Blight, just don't. He had no logical reason to treat me the way he did. I just— I feel I'm being stabbed in the back left and right and I don't want to do this anymore!"

I sit back down, hard, and Blight lets out a defeated sigh, because he knows he can't exactly argue back anymore.

____________

It's been a few weeks. As of now, the Games are over.

I spent the time watching the ending of them with Johanna and Blight. I didn't want to, but I did, and I suppose I found myself interested in the progress of Katniss Everdeen, the tribute from District Twelve. She's someone I've come to admire, and when I thought she would win, she did.

The funny thing is she didn't win alone, and I think this ignited this rebellious desire in me that I'd suppressed in order to keep my loved ones safe.

To not be without Peeta Mellark (her district partner and supposed lover, but I don't believe it), she orchestrated a near suicide that led to them both being able to win.

President Snow came to me immediately after, the day I was celebrating my birthday.

Strangely enough, the day the Games ended happened to fall on my birthday, which wasn't the most pleasant experience but became significantly better upon watching Katniss's victory. I was having a small celebration with Johanna, Blight, the Allardyce's and Mrs. Vangsenn, when someone came knocking at the door.

I stride towards it, and open it only to find the wrinkled but determined face of the President.

"Mr. President," I say somewhat stiffly. This is it, I think. My call to finally go back to work. He hadn't given me jobs since the Games weren't over yet, and I thought this would be my call to action.

"Miss Reeves," he replies, smiling thinly at me. "May I come in?"

I nod slowly and allow him to step inside before leading him to the empty study where we met previously, when I'd first been allotted the house.

"I come bearing some news," he says simply as he sits down, crossing his legs before looking up at me. "About Seneca Crane."

I stiffen. "Sir?" I ask. Please God no, don't tell me I have to work on him again—

"He's dead."

I falter, because that's not what I expected to hear.

"You did your job very well," Snow says. "I don't doubt that. If you noticed, this arena had many secrets and features that made it a hidden inferno. Seneca would likely not have created it were it not for you. For that, I thank you."

I nod slowly. "Thank you, sir...."

He nodded back at me. "Of course, Seneca had other problems. You see, he simply enabled Miss Everdeen to light a spark in Panem that I simply do not appreciate. He allowed her to make a fool of me, to change the Games in a way I dislike greatly. So, Seneca is gone. Our new Head Gamemaker is someone named Plutarch Heavensbee. I will likely have you do a job with him, just to make sure he has your influence to not make a mistake. I trust you to get the job done. Additionally, since you will have your conference for your... job... you've officially gotten off your training wheels, per se. Your sessions will no longer be recorded, and you will likely get less jobs— more like once a week assignments. That is your reward for your hard work. You survived a year, and for that I'm proud."

I bite my lip. "Thank you, Mr. President— I appreciate it."

He smiles maliciously and stands. "The conference is next week. I look forward to hearing you attended."

He walks out without another word to me.

____________

That night, Johanna stays behind.

I haven't exactly told her everything I told Blight just yet, and I know she'll not only want the story but also to check up on me.

I lay back on the couch and tell her everything, ranging from Finnick being a dick to Gloss taking advantage of me and Snow's conversation.

Johanna is a good listener. She doesn't lose her gaze from mine, and she clearly expresses sympathy in her face without saying anything.

When I finally finish and she's been informed of everything that's been going on, she speaks.

"Morgan," she says softly, "you're not dumb for trusting him. Yes, it was a mistake, but it doesn't make you stupid or anything. To err is human, and to come back from it is human as well. I'm so beyond sorry he did this to you, I wouldn't wish it on anyone. And I don't know why he did it— it's such a bastard move. But I swear to you— he's gonna get what he fucking deserves, if not from me, it'll be from Finnick or Blight or just, anyone."

"Don't even mention Finnick," I mumble, holding my head in my hands. "I don't want to hear if he breathes. He's fucking dead to me. If he hadn't been such a dick—"

"He likes you, Morgan."

I pause, and I feel my entire face lose its circulation. "He— he what?"

"Finnick likes you!" She said. "Jesus— he's liked you for awhile now, he was probably jealous or something."

I bite my lip. "Let— let me call him."

Why am I suddenly appealed by the idea that Finnick might like me? I don't know, but I'm starting to think part of me isn't opposed to it and also wouldn't mind it.

But then I start thinking more. How the hell would that excuse his behavior? He treated me like absolute crap and he expected me to just comply and realize something?

Before I know it I'm dialing his number. The line rings a few times, and his voice appears.

"Morgan?" He asks immediately. "Morgan is this you?"

I gulp. "Y-Yeah."

"Holy shit. Are you okay? L-Look I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier but I'm really worried—"

"Finnick I don't want to talk about it. I just... I have a question."

He pauses. "Okay, shoot."

I breathe deeply. "Do you like me?"

There is silence on the other end and I feel my chest tighten.

Of course not. Of course he doesn't.

There is no sound coming from him for a long time. He's probably deciding how he should tell me he doesn't fucking like me.

"Morgan I—"

"Nevermind," I mutter, my hand shaking as I take the phone and slam it down.

Johanna comes in immediately. "Well?"

"He doesn't like me, Johanna, he made that clear," I say bitterly, before sprinting up to my room.

It's not long before my phone rings and I have to go downstairs to answer it.

"Yes?" I say tiredly.

"Morgan." It's Finnick's voice and immediately becomes something I don't want to hear.

"Finnick please— just leave me alone. You don't need to fucking explain how you don't like me and how I'm just a sister and prostitute to you and how you were mean because I'm a fucking idiot—"

"Morgan! Stop— stop, I don't want to say any of that!"

"Well hurry up, Finnick, I don't want to talk," I say, my voice cracking as I blink away tears that've materialized in my eyes.

"Morgan... Morgan I do like you," he says. "I swear to God I do. I promised myself I wouldn't catch feelings for you because you're young and I'm a mess and we work together but... it's so hard not to like you. I mean... you're absolutely gorgeous... so sefless and passionate... caring and badass and a million other words. You're amazing and I fell for you and seeing Gloss flirting with you was making me jealous. God... when I found out what he did, I went to his dorm and I fucking beat him up, I couldn't stand to see his face looking so innocent after he took advantage of you and hurt you like that."

I feel my chest tighten. He beat up Gloss for me? And he does like me? It's so much to take in, and I don't know how to feel.

Part of me definitely likes Finnick, there's no question about that, but part of me doesn't trust him now. He treated me horribly— the way no one should be treated. How do I know even he's bot lying? I'm paranoid now.

"Before you say anything," he continues, and I can hear him breathing heavily from how quickly he's taking to make sure I hear him out before I decide to hang up or something. "I— I admit I was angry that you were too oblivious to see he didn't care about you. I hated that you were trusting him and not protecting yourself and being more cautious considering what we work with all the time. I was pissed because I thought you didn't give a shit about yourself and on top of that was mad I didn't tell you sooner so you wouldn't have gone with Gloss. Morgan— I'm so sorry. Please, let me make it up to you."

My mouth is dry, and I bite my lip.

I simply can't forgive him.

"Finnick," I say after a long pause. "You— you hurt me too. I can't forgive you. And I— I don't know if I can even trust you."

"Morgan I swear to God you can— I made a mistake, please—"

"I-I can't Finnick. I'm sorry. I just— I can't forgive you just like that. You made me feel so self conscious and so awful. You don't do that just because you're mad that someone is oblivious or flirting with someone who isn't you."

"Morgan, Morgan please—"

"Don't call me again, Finnick." I don't realize I'm crying until I see water trickling down the cord of the phone, a river stemming from my eye and flowing from my cheek to the device that's bringing me Finnick's voice. "I feel— like shit right now. I was taken advantage of and emotionally abused by you, who I—" I swallow hard. "Who I'm pretty sure I liked a lot. And you were supposed to be one of my closest friends."

"Morgan!" He cries in desperation. "Morgan don't go, let me make it up— PLE—"

I throw down the receiver before he can finish a plea I have no mind to hear.


	17. Chapter 17

It's a week and a half later when I am back in the train headed towards the Capitol.

The train ride itself brings me some peace. I am completely alone on it and I enjoy being able to lay back without worrying about anyone watching me with a look of pity or confusion. I like getting to eat a meal alone without Johanna asking if I think I can manage to eat more, or Blight encouraging me to consume my protein.

I haven't spoken to Finnick since that call, though I know he's been calling Johanna to discreetly check up on me. I don't mean to shut her out but I feel I have to, because I don't need Finnick snooping around.

I liked him, but I doubt I do now.

I arrive at the Capitol and just like the year before, Peacekeepers escort me into the same spacious and silvery shuttle that drives me to the familiar building where us prostitutes have our home base.

This time only one Peacekeeper leads me up the fifteen floors to our conference room, rather than a whole squad of them. I suppose now they know I have no will to run away, as they're aware I know I'm protecting my loved ones by doing this.

I put on my uniform, the disgusting lacy underwear and transparent spaghetti strap dress with slight cleavage. It's even tighter on me this year than before, and makes my breasts and bottom appear much larger from the strain it puts against the fabric.

"Do we still have shared rooms this year?" I ask wearily, looking back at the Peacekeeper, who didn't bother to leave the room while I got dressed.

"Yes," he says. "Another shared room."

I sigh. Great, I'll have to be nearer to Finnick again.

Once I have changed, the Peacekeeper reminds me that my hair must be down, so I undo the singular braid I did on myself last night to ensure my hair was at least naturally curled. I have to admit it's also me hopping onto the bandwagon, as every young girl wants to don the hair that Katniss Everdeen sports so well.

I wonder how she is. Whether she and her supposed lover are even talking. I can tell something about them is fake, and I worry this may be a crack in a further plan that'll cause mayhem in the future, though I'm not sure which gut feeling possesses me to feel so.

The Peacekeeper escorts me into the same room as before, but I find that Laurel, Althea, and Sextus are not there. Silka sits on the couch alone with a clipboard in her hand, and across from her is Finnick, once again completely shirtless with his non-transparent pants.

He looks up at me eagerly, and in contrast to last year when he didn't look much at me except to eventually warn me, his eyes actually travel across my body and I can see his pupils dilate like I'm a fascinating specimen or even a scrap of food.

"Morgan!" Silka says happily. She strides toward me and to no one's surprise, kisses me full on the lips before pulling me into a bone crushing hug. I guess that's her style, since she did this last year.

When I pull away, I'm caught off guard by her features up close.

Her once dark eyes are now emerald green, as though she's placed contacts in them. She looks so much older, and her skin is actually wrinkled, which it wasn't before. She should be fifty seven now, and she certainly looks her age. She wears a dress that covers her body completely— from sleeves to a turtleneck, all the way down to the floor. It reminds me of something that an older woman would wear to a funeral, not a prostitute

conference.

She yanks me forward and plops me beside Finnick.

My automatic impulse is to bounce up from the couch and move away, but Silka holds me firm and makes me sit so close to him that our thighs rub together. Instead of cringing, I simply lean slightly away and ignore the smile Finnick is trying to get me to notice. Silka doesn't seem to care we didn't immediately greet each other.

"I'll be right back," Silka says, holding her clipboard tight to her chest. "I just need to check some room preparations."

She darts out, and I immediately scoot away from Finnick.

"Morgan," he says softly, probably trying to will me to look at him. "How have you been?"

I look at the opposite side of the room. "Fine."

"Morgan, please, I'm sorry—"

"Save it, Finnick, I came to work, not to hear your apologies."

I can tell he flinches, even though I can't see him. "Morgan, hear me out—"

"I heard you out and I'm not interested in re-kindling our friendship anytime soon. I can't trust you."

"Yes you can!" He insists. "You can trust me—"

"Can I?" I force myself to look at him, to show him I'm not joking. "Can I trust you? I thought you cared about me but you just abused my emotions like I meant nothing to you."

"Morgan," he says, no longer smiling. "I-I wasn't thinking—"

I snort. "Clearly not. But what's done is done. Do you really expect me to throw myself into your arms and say it's okay? Because it's not okay. You don't treat someone like shit just because they act or perceive things a certain way or because you like them. Hell, if you liked me, you would never have done that to me. Why? Because when you like someone, you don't put yourself in a position to lose them."

Finnick is silent for a minute, his nostrils flaring like he's holding back a lot of emotion, though I suppose it mostly must he anger ay himself, since his eyes aren't full of any type of malice.

"Morgan, I made a mistake—"

"Damn right you did. And people don't just waltz back into the grasp of someone who hurt them. I need time to even be able to look at you without wanting to put an axe in your face."

He flinches very visibly, as if it's really finally dawned on him how hurt I truly am.

"Morgan," he says. "Morgan—"

"Stop saying my name, Odair. I don't want to hear it coming out of your mouth."

I turn away as Silka re-enters the room, looking just as giddy as before.

"Where is everyone else?" I ask as soon as she's taken a seat.

She sighs, and shrugs. "What can I say? Reckless idiots, they were."

"Excuse me?" I say. "What did they do?"

"They got released from their positions— or at least, Sextus and Laurel did."

"What are you talking about?" Finnick mumbles, clearly in the dark about this occurrence too.

"The three of them usually do bigger jobs together— because they've known each other longest. They happened to attend a party and they did not complete their job. Althea overdosed on morphling before she even got to her first client."

I clap my hand over my mouth. "You're joking."

"No," Silka sighs. "What I heard was that Althea found out some inside information regarding the Quarter Quell this coming year, and she was not pleased. The Peacekeepers and Capitolians who investigated ruled it an accidental overdose, but before they were released, Sextus told me Althea may have done it on purpose. He and Laurel were in a horrid state when they found them, drunk and high and with incomplete jobs. The President retired them permanently."

"Are they dead?" I say hoarsely, not realizing until now how suspicious this is.

"Sextus was executed, yes, because he was not complying to anything that President Snow ordered. Laurel is in prison as we speak."

I bite my lip. "That's— that can't be a coincidence. What did Althea find out? Sextus must have known if he didn't want to comply—"

"And it was about the Quarter Quell?" Finnick asks. "They knew this before these Games ended?"

Silka nods. "This was recent, and covered up. They heard something, I'm not sure what. I suppose it must have been around the same time President Snow started recruiting a new Head Gamemaker."

I swallow hard. "Plutarch Heavensbee."

Finnick flinches. "How do you know that?"

I don't face him as I answer. "President Snow informed me of his promotion— stated I'd have a job with him."

Silka sucks in a harsh breath. "Be careful Morgan. It may be likely that any information you learn will be destructive, but you can't let it destroy you or the industry— or the Games. President Snow won't be merciful."

I nod slowly, and Silka immediately looks around nervously, before clearing her throat.

"Introductions," she says hastily. "I-I'm Silka. This is my twenty first year here. I'm fifty seven years old. I like... walks... re-runs... and reading."

It's clear both Finnick and I sense how quickly she changed the subject. Something must have changed, something that made her cautious.

We are probably being watched....

"Remember," she says softly, "first or nicknames only, no last names."

Yeah, because we've lost our identity simply by being here.

"I'm Finnick," he says, looking sideways at me. "This is my seventh year here and I am twenty four. I like to swim, eat, and hang out with my fellow victors."

At this, he turns very abruptly to me. I can see his pupils dilated again, as if he's attempting puppy eyes. I frown at him, trying to convey the message that I really am not going to be convinced to forgive him no matter what he does in the near future.

"I'm Morgan," I mumble, looking at Silka instead. "This is my second year here, and I am nineteen. I like to sleep, read, and uh... practice knife throwing."

Finnick gulps very visibly, and it almost makes me laugh.

I find that the first thought that comes to mind is that fact that he looks sweet making that face, and that his skin is much nicer than before.

I immediately shake the thought out of my head. What's wrong with me? I'm angry at him. I can't trust him. I can't let myself get obsessed with Finnick Odair.

"Good," Silka says, looking much calmer than before. "Good, excellent. Well uh, lunch is in the dining hall. Meet at your shared dorm later."

I grit my teeth. Of course, I'll have to share a room alone with Finnick.

Finnick doesn't move, but I do. I stand up and stride out, immediately making my way to the dining hall, and finding the nearest knife before slashing it into a watermelon and fantasizing that I'm mutilating either Gloss or Finnick's head.

_____________

This entire week, Finnick has been to the utmost obnoxious.

For one, he keeps apologizing pretty much everytime I'm near him.

I could be passing my on our way to training and he'll say he's sorry in a soft mumble as he walks alongside me. Or I'll be in the shower and I'll hear a knock on the door followed my him reminding me of how sorry he is.

Secondly, he's overly kind. He keeps opening doors for me, and bringing me drinks, and clearing my plates for me. I try to insist I can be self sufficient and he doesn't need to baby me, but everytime, he insists he's being a gentleman.

Also, he won't stop looking at me.

If it's not already awkward enough that we have to teach other things as part of the learning process, it doesn't help when his gaze is intent and fixed on mine every hour. He even sleeps facing me from his bed across the room, like he has nothing better to do.

And the letters. Don't even get me started on the letters. He writes me one every night so I wake up to it in the morning. I do read them, because it would be pointless not to and even I'm not that cruel, but it's too much. I swear each letter has to have the word 'sorry' in it a dozen times at least, if not more like twenty.

He tries to write about my qualities and how much he admires me, but I don't like his sucking up.

Lastly, his conversations. Jesus, he takes it so personally and just can't understand that I need my space. I've been hearing him call Johanna repeatedly and ask her for advice, though I can't hear what she tells him. What I do know is that he thinks to some extent I'm playing hard to get, and to another extent I'm angrier at him than I let on.

I don't know which one it is anymore.

Because after a lot of self evaluation I've concluded that I did really like Finnick, and I probably didn't realize it because I hadn't been with anyone since Misha, and even Misha didn't have very many emotions tied with it, it was mostly just sleeping together.

But also, I consider how much Finnick hurt me and I nearly cringe at the thought I had any sort of feelings for him.

So yeah, it's complicated. I doubt I can forgive him anytime soon, and I really would rather not have anything to do with him right now, but as luck would have it here I am on the final night of this conference, sitting at a dinner table with Silka and Finnick.

"You two did so well," Silka says, smiling. "I'm so glad to have the two of you left here. You're very good workers."

I half smile at her. As much as I never got along with the others, I miss Laurel and Althea's shared morbid sense of humor as well as Sextus's terrible jokes. I don't know if they're in a better place now, if a heaven even exists for those dead, or if Laurel is okay in prison.

"How did you find the conference?" Silka asks, clearly eager to hear our opinions. "I'm thinking about some new activities and lessons for next year that we can do."

"Well... won't it just be us next year?" I ask. "Really, Snow doesn't seem to have anyone in mind otherwise they'd be here. He picks them young anyway, right?"

"Nonsense," Silka says. She lets out an airy laugh. "Why, by this time next year we might have Katniss Everdeen working with us."

I drop my fork, and the loud clatter resonates around the room. Finnick tensed up, and I can sense he feels just like I do— angry that she'd even suggest it.

"Why, because she'll be eighteen by next year?" Finnick mutters dangerously. For the first time this week, I'm grateful for what comes out of his mouth.

"Of course," Silka says. "She's radiant, she is, and I'm sure she could be the next Morgan."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap, finding my hand gripping the edge of the table hard, my knuckles turning chalk white and my fingers trembling and threatening to break.

"You, young and new and so popular with the customers. Snow's favorite, the one that gets recorded— or at least, got recorded."

Being reminded of Snow having been recording me previously makes me grit my teeth loudly. I wouldn't wish this job on my greatest enemy— not even on Enobaria, who I might have killed if she was a mentor this time around.

"Yes, Katniss would be a great addition," Silka says pleasantly as if absolutely nothing is wrong. "We always need a fresh one."

We always need a fresh one.

I can't believe her. She sees us here, not exactly fucking enjoying this, and she wants to dehumanize Katniss the same way? A sixteen year old girl who probably already has enough on her plate what with the stunt she pulled?

We always need a fresh one.

Something inside me snaps, and in an instant I've launched myself up and my fists are flying. I've pinned Silka onto the ground and I'm beating her until my knuckles are bleeding.

I can feel Finnick is trying to yank me back so I hit him too, growling like a furious animal. Silka is screaming loud, I know Peacekeepers will be here any second, but I can't stop beating her, just like I couldn't stop stabbing Tressa—

A shock runs through my body and I hear Finnick's angry yell. I collapse backward, my limbs numb and my eyes wide, and I catch a glimpse of a Peacekeeper standing over me with a taser in his hand.

"Sedate her," he growls as other Peacekeepers move to drag Silka away. She's crying, I can hear that amongst the high pitched ringing in my ears that threatens to blow up my eardrums.

I can see Finnick trying to negotiate or something with the Peacekeeper as I'm lifted like a rag doll and carried off. I'm being held roughly, and my arms burn but they're far too weak to move them.

I then abruptly get injected, which I guess is the sedation they meant to give me. I moan softly in pain and shake my head, trying to get them to leave me alone, but they don't, the bastards.

I'm taken to the hospital wing, I suppose is what it's called, and laid on a bed. I can't move so it's pretty pointless when they handcuff me to the rails of the bed, but they do anyway. I'm hooked up to machines by doctors that come closer.

I can hear them talking as my eyes start to close, and I fight to keep consciousness.

".... probably a manic episode, could be typical with a bipolar disorder...."

"... could be schizophrenic...."

"... has a history of violent outbursts, but it's rare, so perhaps hypomania with rare severe manic episodes...."

"... schizoaffective disorder...."

"No," I grunt weakly, and their talking ceases. "Not... that... mad... get mad... she deserved it..."

This makes them inject me again, and I don't remember anything until the next morning when my eyes open and sunlight assaults me.

I groan and hear movement.

"Morgan!"

Finnick runs to my side and takes my hand, and I groan again.

"Finnick go away, please," I say weakly. "I don't want to see you."

"Morgan just shut up and let me care, look, Silka isn't pressing charges but Snow has been informed. He doesn't think it's much of a problem and actually vouched against you being put in a mental institution and dismissed— he knows it's a one time thing."

If it wasn't weird enough that Silka wasn't pressing charges, it sure took me out of the loop to hear Snow supporting me.

"Finnick go away," I moan, closing my eyes again.

"Morgan no, hear me out, please— I've done everything to tell you how sorry I am and I want to keep you safe and I just—"

"Keep me safe?" I say hoarsely. "Hypocrite. It's like you keep forgetting you hurt me. Jesus, Finnick, I'm not weak, I can protect myself. Why can't you simply understand that I want to be away from you for a goddamn while? I need time to stop being angry, so please, please leave."

When I don't hear Finnick move, my heart starts to pound in my chest, and I feel like shoving him out. I need to be alone, I need to, I need to, and he's not leaving.

"Morgan," he says. "Morgan—"

"LEAVE!" I cry, tears immediately cascading down my cheeks. "LEAVE ME ALONE! STOP FUCKING TRYING TO FIX THINGS! I NEED TO BE ALONE RIGHT NOW AND YOU WON'T LET ME HAVE A MINUTE ALONE!"

He flinched. "Morgan but I just care—"

"If you cared at all about me, you'd leave me alone!" I sob, shaking my head wildly. Whatever monitor that's hooked up to me starts to go haywire, and Finnick takes it as my final warning.

When he walks out I don't bat an eyelash.  
  


**A/N: What are your thoughts? Comment below! Don't forget to share this story if you like it :) your comments make me super happy.**


	18. Chapter 18

Half a year later, I am sitting in my house, wrapped in a fluffy robe and wearing the comfiest slippers ever.

President Snow indeed gave me less frequent jobs. He said nothing to me about the incident with Silka, and I haven't been approached by Finnick or anyone about it. I suppose it was hushed up. No one can find out that a secret prostitute could be a secret psycho.

Today, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are scheduled to arrive in our District anytime now, and I have yet to get dressed to go greet them at the train.

I'm thinking a lot about my Victory Tour, and how awful it was having to go face the Districts whose children I killed mercilessly. I can't imagine how Katniss feels especially, since she actually killed a few kids, whereas Peeta didn't kill anyone. I hate remembering my Victory Tour, and wish for their sake that they'll be able to forget it too, in due time.

A knock on my door alerts me that I should be dressed, but I'm not. I grumble to let whoever is outside know I'm not prepared, and the door opens to reveal Johanna in a forest green suit with sequins and rhinestones all over it.

"That's ghastly," I say. "Don't tell me Griz designed it."

"Gliese did," Johanna says. "You know she's more about the shine. I hate the look but it's very comfortable."

I nod and toss off my robe, not minding that I'm naked and Johanna can see. I grab the first pair of underwear that I see and slip it on, then squeeze into the dress Griz left for me last night. It's tight fitting and floor length, but has a turtleneck and long sleeves. It's white but splattered artistically with green, and I can easily tell that my outfit was picked out and made most carefully, considering yesterday I saw Blight be given a suit the color of pine bark.

"Your hair?" Johanna asks, pointing at the long, messy tangles that fall over my back.

I shrug and toss my head down, quickly arranging it into a loose bun before putting a sparkling band around it so the messiness looks intentional and cute, if anything.

I slip on heels and stride forward. Johanna walks out and I follow her, neither of us speaking.

We stop at Blight's house first to pick him up, and he looks sad right off the bat.

"You two certainly weren't screwed over," he mutters as we walk to a car that's waiting for us.

I offer him a small laugh as we climb in, and the ride to the station is silent.

"So," Johanna says once we get out and walk to the platform where Katniss and Peeta will arrive. "Have you spoken to Finnick?"

I know she's talking to me but I look at Blight in hopes that maybe I'm wrong and she means to address it to him.

"No," I say. "And he hasn't pried. For that, I'm thankful."

"He really cares about you."

"He wouldn't give me breathing room, and I don't trust him."

"Morgan, stop being a stubborn bitch."

I know she's not actually insulting me, but I scoff anyway. "He needs to earn me back. I don't care what his motives were or what his reasoning was, he shouldn't have screwed me over like that."

Johanna clearly wants to say something else, but Blight holds his hand up to stop her from talking.

Thankfully, the train arrives soon after and Katniss and Peeta step off.

Of course, they're wearing green and white. Katniss's dress is similar to mine but much more luxurious and dazzling, reflecting the light so much that I have to squint to look at her. Peeta is in a white suit with a green tie and green lining on parts of the sleeves.

I can see immediately they look nervous, and I know why.

In District Eleven, things got a bit out of hand. Long story short, after Katniss praised the tributes from Eleven and remembered how special they were, an old man's rebellious gesture earned him an execution and from what I heard, really traumatized Katniss.

"Welcome to District Seven," I say, smiling. I take her hand and squeeze it, letting her know she's safe, because I wish to God someone had done that for me on my Victory Tour. "We're glad to have you here."

Katniss smiles. "Nice to meet you. I'm uh, Katniss Everdeen."

She's so awkward it's adorable, and I'm reminded immediately of Gretchen, which makes my chest tighten a bit. I release her hand and instead pull her into a hug. I don't know why I do it, but I do, and she relaxes in my arms.

"I'm Morgan Reeves," I tell her when I pull away.

"You won last year," she notices, and I can see from the way her eyes look at my stomach that she must be remembering how I walked out of the arena almost bleeding out from having a spear in my side.

"I did, yes." I turn to Peeta and shake his hand. "Peeta, so nice to meet you."

He smiles. "It's lovely to meet you too. Might I say, you and Katniss are very good at rocking at green and white combination. It's deadly."

I raise an eyebrow and giggle a bit. I can see immediately why they were put together, and my suspicions of their relationship being falsified are confirmed.

Katniss is awkward but serious, and straight to the point. Strong and determined.

But Peeta is confident and he's only serious when he needs to be. He's charming and he carries them and helps them seem so in love.

I knew I wasn't just seeing things.

Katniss and Peeta are introduced to Johanna and Blight, and Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket then step out of the train.

"Is that Morgan Reeves?" Haymitch says, grinning. I've never talked to him aside from when I had my Victory Tour in Twelve, so I awkwardly smile.

He comes and pats my shoulder. "Good to see you. I've heard a lot about you."

I'm not sure what he means. I haven't been doing anything special, my job isn't supposed to be known, and the Silka incident was hidden. What's he been hearing?

"Lovely to meet you!" Effie trills suddenly, coming to hug me. "Now, where is Rupalia? I must see her!"

"She's back at the Justice Building running last preparations for their speech," Johanna says smoothly, sounding like she's annoyed. She hates Capitolian accents and Effie's is much worse than Rupalia's.

"Excellent!" Effie says, clapping her hands. "Well, let's go!"

We lead them all to the car that takes us to the Justice Building, even though it's walking distance away.

Once we lead them in, we have to go sit with the audience as Katniss and Peeta give their speeches.

Our District is respectful. Katniss and Peeta didn't kill our tributes, and they are a symbol of rebellion, that much is clear. When we chant their names we chant them with fire and passion, not with malice. Katniss and Peeta don't seem too uncomfortable, which I am happy for.

We only meet them again later to escort them back to the train.

"Thank you for that, it ran so smoothly!" Effie trills as she hops into the train.

"You're welcome," Johanna says a bit stiffly before heading back to the car and dragging Blight with her.

I half smile. "She's not very social," I say apologetically to Katniss and Peeta.

"Neither am I," Katniss says, biting her lip. "It was uh, nice meeting you, Morgan."

"It was nice meeting you too, Katniss," I say. "Hopefully next year we can mentor together, we'll see."

I nod and hug her one last time before shaking Peeta's hands and telling them both goodbye.

It's Haymitch who lingers behind. To my surprise he hugs me, but soon I realize it's a play to whisper in my ear.

"Plutarch has plans for you," he whispers. I'm stunned and can't react, because suddenly he's pulled away and goes onto the train, and I'm left standing alone on the platform.

______________

About a month later I'm still thinking about what Haymitch told me.

Plutarch has plans for me? Is he going to hurt me during a session? Or is this an ominous sort of hint to something bigger?

I don't know, and frankly it doesn't matter, because we have a bigger problem.

Uprisings.

This past month has awakened Uprisings in our District and others, and I'm terrified of what they'll do to my people if they don't stop.

It was Katniss Everdeen who ignited this, and I applaud it.

Almost right after she left, the screen played her speech in Eight, as our power had been out the night before for some strange reason and we hadn't been able to watch it.

It was what she said that caused people to change.

Starting the next day, strikes were happening. Mills were shut down from the lack of workers, and next thing we knew, there were gunshots and screaming everywhere, and we were informed that people were dead.

But the uprisings haven't stopped. No, they've been persisting, though less frequently.

Of course, this is being fairly hushed. No one outside is being informed of what's happening. Hell, I hardly know because all the Victors are on house arrest to be kept 'safe.'

Really, I just think they don't want us helping.

So I've practically been inside my house for the past month, and today I was finally able to step out for fresh air so us Victors could congregate at Johanna's house because the Peacekeepers informed us that a special broadcast will be done tonight, and we must watch it.

"I wonder what it is," Blight muses.

"Maybe a fucking warning," Johanna mutters. She's not happy with our situation. She thinks our people have been idiotic to dare uprise, and put their children in danger of being hurt as retaliation. She doesn't very much like participating in movements like that, and she stays out of everything.

"Let's just watch," I say quietly, biting my lip.

At seven thirty we gather around the television with blankets around us and snacks in our hands, as well as a few bottles that Johanna wants to get rid of so she can get a new supply.

The first face that appears is Caesar Flickerman's. This year his hair had been blue, and heMs kept it until now.

He's speaking before a standing-room-only crowd in front of the Training Center. He tells them (who are a very appreciative bunch, it seems) about Katniss Everdeen's upcoming nuptials.

Apparently she and Peeta are getting married in the midst of this, and I sincerely pity both of them because it's clear that they don't love each other but they also seem to not have any other choice.

Caesar then introduces Cinna, Katniss's stylist, who became an overnight star with the outfits he coined for Katniss and Peeta at the Tribute Parade.

After a minute of good-natured chitchat, we're directed to turn our attention to a giant screen.

There has been a lot of attention surrounding Katniss's wedding, and it seems the program has been all about that and we must watch it. Voting had been going on for favorite wedding dresses for Katniss, which involves a lot of people screaming and cheering.

"Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" Caesar hollers.

"Jesus fuck, turn it off!" Johanna growls, throwing a now empty bottle across the room, where it shatters against the wall. "First they keep us captive in our houses and then they make us watch a stupid wedding program?"

I get the feeling that Johanna doesn't like Katniss, but I don't have time to dwell on it because just before Blight turns the TV off, Caesar is announcing another big event of the evening.

"Wait!" I say, slapping the remote from his hand.

"That's right!" Caesar is saying. "This year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

Johanna instantly ceases her bitching and shifts forward. "What?" She mumbles. "But the Quarter Quell isn't for months— what the hell is this about?"

"It must be the reading of the card," Blight says. "Just— listen."

The anthem plays, and I start to get nervous. This feels weird, it has to be something really special for us to be mandated to watch.

President Snow goes onto the stage and I grit my teeth. The sight of him is still infuriating for me. He's followed by a young boy dressed in a white suit, holding a simple wooden box.

The anthem ends and President Snow begins to speak, to remind us all of the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born. When the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. It would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the district's' rebellion.

Of course he mentions that, considering all the uprisings.

President Snow goes on to tell us what happened in the previous Quarter Quells, and it makes my skin crawl.

"On the twenty fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

That must have been awful. Being picked by your neighbors. That would feel so much worse than getting picked out of the ball.

"On the fiftieth anniversary," Snow continues, "as a reminder that two revels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

That would have been worse. Forty seven other people instead of twenty three. Would I have survived that even with my bloodthirstiness?

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell."

Johanna, Blight, and I simultaneously sit forward. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. We can see the tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. Whoever devised the Quarter Quell system has prepared for centuries of Hunger Games. The president removes an envelope clearly marked with a 75. He runs his fingers under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper.

I feel my chest tighten.

Without hesitation, he reads, "On the seventy fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

It's like all time has stopped.

There is dead silence as I subconsciously press the button to shut off the television.

Johanna is staring blankly at the now empty and dark screen. Blight's lip twitches.

"You're fucking joking," Johanna says at last, standing up. "FUCKING JOKING!"

She grabs a full bottle and throws it hard against the wall. "BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT— WE'RE DONE! WE CAN'T FUCKING DO THIS AGAIN! WE WON AND THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE IT!"

Blight and I are on our feet instantly. "Johanna, calm down!" I try to put her hands down but she slaps me away and yells out in pure rage. Blight pushes her back on the couch and she kicks, her eyes wild. "NO! NO, NO!"

"Johanna stop it!" I cry, trying to stop her from clawing at me. "STOP!"

The phone rings loudly, and Johanna stops. "Answer it," she says hoarsely, her throat clearly screwed from all the screaming.

I rush to the phone and pick it up. "Hello? Hello?" I pant.

"Morgan?" It's Finnick's voice. "Morgan— are you with Johanna?"

"Yes, she's not doing good," I say with a shaky voice, finding myself not hanging up upon knowing it's Finnick. I hear Johanna start to scream again, and I watch Blight try to pin her down.

I hear Finnick curse in the background.

"I'm on my way with Annie," he says immediately after. He hangs up and I put the phone down.

It's a mere hour later when there is a knock on the door, and I throw it open.

Finnick runs in and Annie trots behind him.

Finnick doesn't look at me, he runs straight through to where Blight and I tied Johanna down to stop her from hurting herself.

"Johanna," Finnick whispers, kneeling beside her. "Johanna, look at me, it's going to be okay."

Johanna looks at him with wild eyes and she shakes her head. "We were promised!" She snarls, her head shaking more. "They killed my fucking family for not becoming a prostitute and they PROMISED! THEY PROMISED THAT WAS IT! THAT I WOULDN'T HAVE TO GO BACK IN! THIS IS HER FAULT! THIS IS KATNISS'S FAULT! THE STUPID GIRL REBELLED AND NOW OUR PEOPLE ARE BEING STUPID AND WE GOT LOCKED IN HERE FOR A MONTH AND NOW WE HAVE TO FUCKING GO BACK INTO THE GAMES! THIS ISN'T A COINCIDENCE, IT'S HER FAULT!"

"Johanna stop," I say, taking the hand that's chained down nearest to me. "Breathe. Seriously, it isn't her fault. He might have done it anyway."

Johanna lets out a loud grunt, and grits her teeth loudly. Her breathing starts to get slower as she calms down.

"Johanna, it's going to be okay," Finnick says softly. He massages her arm, and I can see her visibly relaxing. "I promise I will make sure it's okay, this won't end bad. I will do anything and everything I can."

Johanna shakes her head again. "You can't— we have to— we have to—"

"Go to sleep," Finnick suggests, stroking her hair. "How about that?"

Johanna nods and Blight helps untie her, before he and Finnick carry her upstairs and get her set.

Annie sits on the couch, and holds her head in her hands.

All the focus has been on Johanna, but clearly Annie isn't okay either.

I sit next to her and put my arm around her. "Hey... hey it's going to be okay, I promise..."

She nods and leans into me, and I just hold her as she starts to cry noisily.

Finnick comes back down awhile later, and I look at him as he gazes over Annie and I's morphed form. A small smile tugs at his lips, but he says nothing and instead comes to sit on the other side of Annie. His arm partially wraps around me as he moves to comfort her.

We both hold her, not saying a word. I can tell he's struggling to keep his gaze away from me.

It's not until Annie falls asleep and lays her head on Finnick's lap for him to stroke her hair that I say something.

"Thank you for coming," I whisper. "I think she needed to see you. Blight and I couldn't calm her down."

"Johanna and I got in the habit of always checking up on each other," he says quietly. "I think she needed to know I was okay, is what."

I nod, biting my lip.

"Morgan." I turn to Finnick, and he's gazing intently at me.

"Finnick, don't say what I think you're going to say," I mumble, shaking my head.

"I have to. Morgan, I care so much about you. I liked you a lot, I loved you so much as a friend, and I made a mistake. Not being able to talk to you hurt me, but I did it because I cared, and I knew you needed space." 

I sigh and look down. "Finnick I still can't forgive you. I'm still bitter, I still need to recover from the betrayal and the hurt and insignificance I felt because of what you did. These past six months I've been able to do that gradually, but I need more time."

He nods immediately. "It's okay, it's okay— take all the time you need. I'll wait for you. I'll wait for you because I want to make sure you're okay when I make a move."

I blush. He wants to make a move, and he's actually caring to make sure I'm okay.

"Thank you," I whisper. "I... I'll let you know."

He smiles, and keeps stroking Annie's hair.

I can't help but notice how caring his gestures are with Annie and Johanna, and even towards me. I'm finding myself appealed by it. He is caring, and I admire that.

But the thoughts that plague me most are constant bitter reminders of how awful he treated me when I did not deserve it, and my entire self begins to question the meaning of it all and if Finnick is even deserving of my forgiveness.

Only time can tell, and I don't know how prepared I am for the day where I have to admit to Finnick Odair that I may have forgiven him after his persistence, and I may have to face the affection I haven't had in a long, long time.


	19. Chapter 19

It's just a short time later (about two weeks or so) when my phone rings in the early morning.

I get out of bed leisurely to answer it, my hand massaging over my thigh nervously as I take the phone into my hand and lift it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Miss Reeves."

It's Snow. He hasn't contacted me since my birthday party and now I'm wondering what this can be about.

"Mr. President," I say as bravely as I can. "It's a pleasure to hear from you."

It's an utter lie. I can't stand to hear his voice. All the Victors are furious, that much I know. Of course I assume Katniss has the worst of it because she knows she's screwed us all over, though I refuse to blame her. He's about to send us back into the arena we worked so hard to escape, the one we fought tooth and nail in for a victory to get home. And here he is, and here am I, pretending everything is well.

He chuckles, and I'm brought back to the call. "Oh, don't flatter me Miss Reeves. I know you must be absolutely furious."

I grit my teeth very audibly. He had to have heard it. "Maybe I am. But I have no place to say anything, do I?"

"Well said. I admire that. You, unlike others, are very smart with words and actions. You are a contained spark."

A contained spark.

Somehow I recall he must have told me something like this before. And I know now it's tied to Katniss.

The Girl on Fire. Releasing uncontrolled sparks and starting a fire.

"Thank you, sir," I say calmly. "You needed me?"

"Ah yes. Awhile ago I told you about how your upcoming client would be Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker. That day is today. I know you've had a few jobs since the incident at your conference, therefore I trust you are calm and collected by now."

"I am, sir," I say. "It won't happen again."

"Good. I am glad to hear it. I expect you on the train within the next half hour to arrive to his domain promptly. You will be spending a great amount of time with him. While he is aware that I am gifting you to him for your work purposes, you are also providing him with company he does not usually receive. Plutarch is less social than Seneca, but just as cunning. You will accompany Plutarch for lunch, and you will also accompany him to a meeting he will be having with the other Gamemakers, though you will not be allowed inside the room. After that, you are to return to his mansion and provide every service you can think of, all while making certain he understands that I don't want to be disappointed. I will leave the wording up to you. If he asks you to stay the night, you will do as he says. I have never assigned anyone but you to Plutarch, so he may be keen on new experiences. Understood?"

I want to yell. "Yes, sir," I say instead, as collectively as I can.

I can practically sense when his sadistic snake smile appears on his lips. "Good girl. Now head to the train. An outfit will be waiting for you there."

I hang up immediately, and then get my robe before putting on sandals and running to the station. I don't want Johanna or Blight to see me. Blight has enough to worry about what with him taking care of Johanna everyday, and Johanna doesn't need another reason to hate Snow.

When I board the train, an Avox hands me a small bag. I take it to my assigned room and change into what's given to me. It's a very lacy set of underwear with a very slutty dress, which I don't particularly enjoy.

Inside the bag, a note informs me that I must come with my hair in a messy bun, which I do easily.

The ride does not take long, and soon I'm being taken off the train in the Capitol and escorted into a car that drives for about fifteen minutes before stopping in front of a luxurious mansion, which I assume must belong to Plutarch.

I am led off by Peacekeepers, and they take me through the front gates to the main door.

I knock once, and the door flies open immediately to reveal a maid.

"You must be Miss Reeves," she says. I can see a disgusted look on her face, as if I'm revolting. Of course, I must be to her, since prostitution is the lowest of the low. She must not have any sympathy or real understanding of my practice. I'm surprised to find she knows what I am, considering how she won't touch me as she leads me to the dining hall, where lunch is laid out.

The table is filled with baskets of rolls, large plates of salads and roast duck as well as sliced toasted ham and mashed potatoes. It's the most non-Capitolian meal I've seen, as mostly they go for the extravagance that makes no sense to me.

The maid sits me down on a chair right beside the head of the table, and I only have to wait a few moments before Plutarch Heavensbee is walking in.

He is tall, which sort of catches me off guard. He looks like he might have been built in his youth, but how his posture isn't the greatest and he looks tired. His hair is a blondish white, and his eyebrows are dark, and furrowed in concentration as he looks at me.

"Morgan Reeves," he says almost skeptically.

"Yes, sir," I say, nodding my head slowly.

He waves his hand in the air and sits beside me. "No need for formalities here."

He loads his plate and begins to eat, and I awkwardly do the same.

"So, were you told of what you'll be doing?" He asks between a mouthful of salad.

"Yes," I reply. "Lunch, a meeting, and a session."

He waves his hand again. "Screw the meeting, it happened fifteen minutes ago, there wasn't much to talk about."

He looks at his maid and waves her away. "Leave us alone."

She leaves, and I continue to eat, trying to be proper.

This is the strangest thing to me. Usually, I'll arrive and go straight to work, anywhere the customer wants. But this, the fraternizing over salad, is weird.

"President Snow likes to think that I'm a man that shares similar qualities to that of other important members of Panem," Plutarch says. "I'm not. I don't do this sort of thing because frankly it's not appealing. I mean, no offense, you're clearly gorgeous, but I have no intention to let you... do whatever is is you do. I've heard you're excellent but that's not my cup of tea."

I drop the fork, startled. "I'm not working?" I ask.

"No," he says, smiling a bit at my reaction. "No, we will say you worked, but you won't have. I do have a job for you to do, but it won't be completed here."

I bite my lip. "A job? Does the President—"

"Know? Of course not. And he can't know. One of your policies is you keep secrets, yes? Well this is something like that. As soon as we finish lunch, we will be taking a fun trip down to an underground bunker I had secretly installed with people who I have an understanding with."

People he has an understanding with? What's that supposed to mean?

I nod instead of questioning it, and he smiles. "You'll understand soon enough, Morgan. And you'll be a very useful part of this. Haymitch recommended you, which is why I made sure to influence Snow into thinking I needed some pleasure. Really, I need help with other things."

"Haymitch?" I ask. "What— why—"

"Haymitch Abernathy isn't a people person, but he does admire those who show grit. You are one of them, and he communicated this to me immediately following the Victory Tour when he and his tributes left your District. He saw something in you. Take is as a compliment."

I just nod again. This is all very strange, but I need to keep my head. Obviously this is important, and I need to help.

When Plutarch and I are both done eating, he leads me down a narrow hall to an elevator that takes us down about three stories, meaning we're underground.

We exit into a large bunker that's the size of maybe the training center where tributes actually learn from instructors. It has several boards on the wall with papers and strings pinned for formulating a plan, and a large center table has more papers on it. On the floor are several cases full of who knows what, and the lights are an ominous addition to make it look like something out of a Capitol film that tries to make everything seek alright when it isn't.

"Welcome to the room where the uprisings are being channeled into good," Plutarch says once he closes and locks the door.

"What?" I say, cautiously approaching a board and looking at the papers. Half the time the word that catches my eye is 'Mockingjay.'

"This is where I am planning how we will begin the long needed war and rebellion against the Capitol. I assume you aren't opposed."

"Is this a trap?" I ask immediately. "If I say yes are you going to incriminate me?"

Plutarch (the bastard) laughs, and I frown.

"No, it's not a trap. All very real."

He brings me to the table. "You see, when Katniss Everdeen defied the Capitol with those berries— I thought it was brilliant. See, Haymitch and I had known each other as part of a secret group waiting to instigate the rebellion. Initially, when we watched your Games, we thought we might use you. But it was difficult, because you were more careful following what happened to your family. Of course, we still labeled you as an ally. Katniss, however, is impulsive, and has not had to fear Snow the way you do, not really. She has the fire you have, but it's been released in a way you did not allow yours to. So she will be our face, but you will help."

I nod to show him that I'm paying attention, but the information is bombarding me.

A rebellion? Is it that time yet? I'm afraid this may be premature, as we don't exactly have the power to go through with it.

"You're probably wondering how this could even succeed," Plutarch says, as if he's reading my mind. "Well, we have contact with District Thirteen."

I gasp. "What? Are you serious? Weren't they obliterated? Long gone?"

"That's what everyone wants you to think. But no, they've managed, and they will be helping us. Of course, Haymitch and I need to work a few more things out, but so far the plan is in motion."

He walks around the table and points to what looks like a map. "This is the arena I've designed for next year. Now, it's very specific, and I will explain more about this once everyone has been gathered. For now, you need to help me with recruitment."

"Like, me gathering others to help us?" I ask.

"Yes," Plutarch says. "You will be our advocate. I will hand you a list and by the end of this week, you will need to have talked to all of them and convince them to join us. All must be Victors, as they will need to be tributes in this Quarter Quell."

He rummages through some papers and pulls out a small slip. "This goes in your underwear or bra, because no one will find it there. You are good with words, that is why Snow sent you here. I assume you're supposed to subtly convince me to not screw it up like Seneca did. I will help where necessary but this must be kept lowkey. I'm lucky my house isn't bugged, but the same can't be said for others. Be cautious as you spread this information, and only contact those on the list, no one else. What you say will be up to you, but you can't reveal too much. Soon, we will meet here to all discuss it at once, though it will be brief and secret. Understand?"

I take a moment to answer. But eventually I nod. "Yes. I understand. Is that all?"

"Yes," he says, smiling. "I'm glad you are up for it. Now, we can get you to take a nap or something so it can seem that you stayed here awhile."

I smile back at him. "Thank you for this opportunity. I'm actually pretty glad to be helping."

______________

It's a week after when I've finally succeeded in contacting everyone on the list, and we are seated in Plutarch's house, inside the bunker, gathered around the table.

Johanna and Blight were told right away. I made sure they knew what was going on the day I got back, after Plutarch let me sleep for a long time in a guest room. President Snow did call and said I did a good job, as Plutarch was mentioning to him how talented I was. I appreciate Plutarch not actually making me do anything.

Contacting Beetee Latier and Wiress Battenberg was simple, as they are the only two living Victors from Three and have anti-Capitolian attitudes themselves. They agreed immediately.

With the Morphlings from Six it was a tad more difficult. They're also the only two living Victors from Six, but they're also such addicts that I wasn't sure a word I said when I found them at their homes got through to them, but somehow it did and here there are.

I talked to Seeder and Chaff from Eleven, and Cecelia and Woof from Eight, but they all insisted they didn't want to risk being too involved. They did promise they'd help keep us who were involved alive, which is a lot to ask but very much appreciated, and Plutarch was okay with it.

The last one I talked to was Finnick.

I had called him the last possible day, having procrastinated on it because I still wasn't ready to talk to him, especially not to ask for a huge favor.

When I did finally gather the guts to discreetly travel to his District for a job (thanks to Plutarch) and snuck into his house, I was greeted with a fresh out of the shower Finnick.

He'd had nothing but a towel around his waist, and despite me having seen him practically naked before, it caught me off guard.

One, because there were water droplets all over his damp hair and his chest, which is probably the most attractive thing I've seen up to date. Finnick and water truly go hand in hand. It's like the sea was made to go together with him, or something. His eyes are that perfect color that matches with the ocean.

Maybe I am an idiot for not exactly noticing this sooner.

"Morgan," he said as soon as I'd walked in. He'd quickly made sure the towel was fastened tight to him.

"Thought I'd pop by with a proposition," I said, half smiling. "It's important."

He nodded and leaned against the wall, which I admit made my pulse skyrocket. "Okay, what is it?"

"We're helping the rebellion."

He blinked, and frowned. "What?"

"We're helping the rebellion. This Quarter Quell won't just be another Games— it's going to work to get Katniss and those of us who survive to District Thirteen to help lead the rebellion."

It took a bit more of an explanation to convince him, but it finally went through, and he transitioned to sit back on the couch, which almost made me faint because his muscles flexed a certain way.

Jesus Christ is this guy hot. I'm starting to think maybe if I forgive him faster, I'll be able to do something with it.

The thing is, everytime I think about forgiving him, I remember what he said. Reminding me I'm an item. An idiot. A sister to him. And I wonder if he ever really cared.

That's the only thing stopping me. The memories of how Finnick treated me.

I can hardly trust anyone.

"Okay," Finnick had said. "I'm in. But under no circumstances can you tell Annie. Or Mags, even. They can't know— I can't put them at risk. You and I, we can be tortured and we won't say anything. I don't want them to even be considered for torture. It'd break me."

I nodded, and bit my lip. I could be tortured. It'd break him if Annie or Mags was tortured, but it's fine if I am.

I suppose I shouldn't have taken it so to heart but I did.

And now, sitting here at the meeting I'm catching myself staring at Finnick every now and then.

"Alright," Plutarch says, standing up. Haymitch is beside him, and they look ready to get down to business.

"I will first explain the arena," Plutarch begins. "Visualize a clock. You have a space between one a two. Between five and six. All around. That's how many spaces?"

"Twelve," I say immediately. Everyone stares at me but I ignore them.

"Good," Plutarch says. "Twelve spaces. Twelve horrors. That's all I can tell you, really, because all of it is still going final inspections and we won't finalize anything til the week before, and by then it'll be very dangerous to keep in contact. Thus all I can say is that the arena will work like a clock. That's your advantage. Now, Haymitch and I have devised a plan. Ultimately, we have a goal to blow up the force field around the arena and get a copter to rescue all of you in there who survive. All of you are here because really there is no chance you won't be in these Games."

"We will make sure you all have the proper tools," Haymitch adds. "Morgan or Johanna, you will have a nice supply of knives and axes in that Cornucopia waiting for you. Finnick, tridents have been placed as part of the weapons for certain. Beetee and Wiress, some of the coils you've both developed are being screened to be used, so we can get creative with that. Most likely, Beetee's newest model will be in, but we're trying to get the thinner coil you designed as well, Wiress. Chaff, Seeder, Cecelia, and Woof aren't here but we know a few of their weapon preferences so those will be in there as well. You two—" he nods to the Morphlings, who don't seem to really have a recognizable name, "will have a wide selection, but we have included the paint you requested for your camouflage."

The Morphlings nod in unison. I can hardly believe they've even been paying attention during this entire meeting.

Plutarch claps at this. "Good. Now the plan is basically for us to blow the field with electricity. I am doing my absolute best to make sure a tree with lighting is included to conduct the necessary electricity, which is where the coils will come in handy. There will be a place to find food somewhere in the center, and Morgan or someone will come up with the idea to electrocute something to get rid of a resource. I can't say what it'll be but I can tell you that much. Whenever the force field blows up, which we hope will happen once we figure out how to wire the center to blow up the field on top, we will need to move fast. So before that, you will likely all need to cut your trackers out, and some of you will be instructed to cut trackers from Katniss as well, and whoever ends up as her partner. Understood so far?"

We all nod again.

"You keep making it very clear that Morgan may not be in the mix," Blight says suddenly, crossing his arms. "Are you throwing her outright into danger or are you keeping her with you?"

This seems to make everyone think, because he's pointed out something important.

"Well," Plutarch says, "who wants to go in? Morgan or Johanna?"

"I'll go."

The words come out of my mouth so quickly that I don't realize I said them until everyone is staring at me.

"Morgan, no," Johanna whimpers, now looking afraid rather than angry at this whole ordeal. She's been making faces this entire meeting.

"I'll go," I repeat, biting my lip. "I will go, I can— I can survive it, I know I can. Plus, I have the communication skills to get through to Katniss. She and I share a connection, I know it. I have to be the one in. Johanna, you'll be more help if you're with Haymitch— you're a strategic person without pressure. You shouldn't be in the arena."

I breathe deeply. "If I'm reaped, I will go. If Johanna is reaped, I will volunteer. Hell, I have no one to live for anyway. It's all gone."

"Don't say that," Blight says sternly. "You're helping the rebellion."

"Which is why I'm not opposed to dying," I say. I look at Johanna. "Let me go. Don't argue. I know you don't want to go back in. I'm willing to sacrifice myself."

Haymitch claps at this, and Johanna numbly nods. I can tell she feels guilty for me offering myself up like this, but I know it's what has to be done.

"Good point there, sweetheart," Haymitch notes. "Hear that, everyone? Morgan is willing to sacrifice herself. This is an important cause. This is the difference between life or death. Freedom or slavery. You are to be selfless. You agreed to this and you know sometimes sacrifices will need to be made. It's a Quarter Quell. Some of you may die, but the ultimate goal is that we get Katniss out alive. She is our focus. When you are Reaped, you must draw attention towards her, don't be silly and act rebellious and arise suspicion. She is our main Mockingjay."

Haymitch then turns to me. "Morgan is our official next in command if for some reason, all fails. But Katniss right now is our symbol of rebellion. All of you, especially Morgan and Finnick who are kept a close eye on by Snow, need to lay low. You can't make it clear that you're supporting her negative actions, you have to make it seem like you end ip allying with her because of survival only. For example, Morgan here has a reputation for being a killer. You my dear, need to make yourself more of a softie so it makes sense for you to pity Katniss, as she'll be the youngest. It would also be a good plan for you to choose a male from this group to be romantically involved with."

"What?" I say. "Why does that matter?"

"Well for one, Peeta's being a little shit," Haymitch grunts. "Since Katniss has no choice but to go, he's insisting he wants to go with her. She made me promise her that if he's reaped, I volunteer. But I can't do much if I'm reaped. Peeta is not our focus but keeping him alive keeps her motivated. So on the off chance he is reaped, they will be a couple. Of course then your main issue is protecting Peeta. Protect Peeta at all costs if he is reaped because that'll keep Katniss motivated to help us if we kept Peeta alive by the end. But bringing it back to Morgan— look, half these men are nowhere near being close friends with Katniss. But if one of them were pretending to be romantically involved with you, wouldn't it make sense for them to come with you if you allied with her? And wouldn't it also make sense for the only two 'couples' to join together. That'll make it seem, once again, like you're bound together because of survival and not starting rebellion."

We all sit in silence after this. I can tell everyone's quiet because they're considering which male is going to offer themselves up, or which one will do it.

"Not the Morphling," Johanna says immediately. "No offense to him but he doesn't communicate much."

The Morphling shrugs in response.

"Not Blight," Johanna adds. "It can't be him, everyone knows he's like a father to Morgan and I. It'd be really fucking weird if they were kissing for show. It would arise suspicion."

Blight nods. "I wouldn't have offered anyway."

"Both of those points are true," Plutarch mumbles.

I frown, because I'm not necessarily liking being exploited like this.

"If Haymitch gets reaped then it'll also be weird because why would Morgan be with an alcoholic?" Johanna scoffs. "No offense Haymitch but I'd pity anyone who had to kiss that mouth."

Haymitch shrugs in a mimicry of the Morphling. I grit my teeth because now there's only two options, Beetee or Finnick.

Part of me would be okay with it being Finnick, and the other part wouldn't.

"I'll do it," Finnick offers.

Fucking amazing.

Johanna and Blight both smile at this, and Plutarch and Haymitch share a look of agreement.

"That should work," they say in unison, which would be creepy if I wasn't so frustrated having to pretend to be in a relationship with Finnick.

It wouldn't even make any fucking sense! Snow knows we haven't talked! Of course it wouldn't be too far fetched to say we settled our differences but still!

All I can remember is Finnick practically labeling me as nothing but a prostitute and it still hurts. As sweet as he can be and as much as he's apologized, I can't just forget it.

"Fine," I say, looking at Finnick with the most intense gaze I can muster. "Fine, I'll do it."

Haymitch scoffs. "Not like that, you won't. Jesus Christ you're like Katniss. Put some fire in there, Morgan. Fake it better than that, I know you can do that in a way Katniss can't."

"It's fine, Haymitch, she'll come around," Finnick says quickly, and I catch him looking apologetically at me.

I don't respond.

I'm too busy suppressing the sudden, unexpected excitement I feel when I think about kissing Finnick's perfect lips.


	20. Chapter 20

**Morgan Reeves's POV**

_75th Hunger Games_

On the day of the Reaping I wake up the way I would any other day.

It's pointless now, to react any other way.

I remember that two years ago on this day, I was afraid to be reaped, and was afraid Gretchen would be reaped with me.

Last year I was afraid because I was flooded with memories of Misha and my family.

This year, I hardly remember them.

Not that I've forgotten them. I've just grown numb to it. Come to terms with it all. And maybe yes, I'm brain dead from the work I do, which I absolutely and utterly despise.

I throw on my simple outfit, left for me by Griz. It's a simple dress with a black halter top and flowy sea green skirt that falls to my ankles. It's a gorgeous dress, and it sucks I'll probably never wear it again because let's face it, I'll likely die.

Just before the meeting ended, Plutarch had made a quick note to look out for the bread, and a code. The District would be the day the plan had to take place, and the pieces would be the hour on a military clock.

So pretty much all I've been thinking about up til now is how my last meal will likely be bread, and it's not comforting. I'd rather have some of Mrs. Vangsenn's chestnut pie.

Once I have slipped on my heels, I take a small tour around my house, sighing as I look at all the paintings and designs and the furniture that I will never lay eyes on again. My fingertips run over the velvet couches and chairs. My hand grazes the rail of the staircase that I hardly ever used, because I used the downstairs bedrooms and bathrooms instead. I go into the kitchen and observe the milk in my fridge, which will likely be spoilt by the time I die.

When I'm done being slightly sad about leaving, I walk out and move into the town by myself.

I know Johanna and Blight will meet me at the Square, so I'm not worried about them being concerned for me.

I walk along the stony roads, not caring that rocks are digging into the bare skin exposed by the stylistic heels that I'm sure Gliese designed.

I take the once very familiar path back into the neighborhood where I grew up, and step into the house I once lived in. It's been empty for two years, and cobwebs are gathered. There is nothing here that I need but the memory of all the times my father spun me around. The times Devan and I wrestled over who got to give Gretchen a piggyback ride. The times my mother would brush my hair by the window so I could count the droplets of rain that fell.

I miss it.

I step out of my house down another familiar path, and into another vacant house.

Misha's.

It's empty as well, and has just as many spiderwebs as mine.

I step into the kitchen where once, we had a passionate argument about paper quality in the mills, and for no apparent reason. I move to the bedroom and remember the first time he pressed me onto it and kissed every inch of my body— the first intimate experience I ever had with a man. I blush as I recall it.

I go into the forest where I used to work. Today, just like it was two years ago, the mill and the forest will be empty.

I walk down the line of pines and go to the exact tree where Misha and I sat on that fateful day and had our last real conversation.

I don't realize I'm crying until I'm starting to walk to the Square.

This is where I grew up, and I will probably never come back again.

When I arrive at the Square, many people are already gathered there. I go up to the stage and sit on one of the three prepared chairs.

Shortly after, Johanna and Blight sit beside me. We take each other's hands and without needing to speak, we squeeze them hard as a reminder we're all still here.

I hardly pay attention to the ceremony. When Blight is Reaped, I hang my head, because I can't save him from going into the arena.

Rupalia looks distraught as she walks over to the large glass ball with only two slips of paper in it. I can see her lip trembling as she closes her eyes and reaches a hand in, extracting a slip.

"The female tribute for District Seven," she says a bit hoarsely, "is Morgan Reeves."

Of course. I mean, I'd be going into the arena anyway, but of course it's my name that gets chosen.

Johanna tenses, and I know she's fighting her impulse to volunteer for me, even if the mere thought of it terrifies her beyond belief.

I stand and take my place beside Blight, and hold his hand as we are presented, and just like every year, Mayor Allardyce begins to recite the Treaty of Treason.

Peacekeepers grab me roughly and lead me into the familiar room where anyone who wants to say goodbye to me will be able to come.

My first visitors are the Allardyce's.

Mayor Allardyce and his wife walk in, hugging baby Gianna, who is barely learning to walk. I smile and embrace them, booping the baby girl's little nose.

"Thank you," Mayor Allardyce says. "I know it must be so difficult to do this. But thank you for always being so selfless. I know Griffin would be so proud of you."

My next visitor is Mrs. Vangsenn, and my heart aches knowing I haven't given Brannock a second thought in forever.

"He would be so proud of you," she says as she comes and hugs me. "He loved you so much." She chuckles halfheartedly. "He used to tell me, 'Mama, I know I'm only fourteen but I love this girl. I love her.' And when he died I... I know his last thought was you. And he's watching over you."

I feel my lip tremble as I melt further into the hug.

Soon it's time to go and there's nothing else to do but comply.

I am led to the train by Peacekeepers, though my tears are no longer present. It's not like before.   
  


" _MISHA!" I scream, my body being yanked back by another Peacekeeper as they punch him, then drag him out. I am then faced with another Peacekeeper who drags me roughly to the train station, which isn't far from the Justice Building._

_My throat is raw from screaming as I get shoved onto the platform._

_I don't know where they took Misha. I need to know where Misha is._

_The station is swarming with reporters, their insectlike cameras trained directly on my face. I know I must look like an awful, emotional mess._

_Misha is the only one on my mind and it makes me feel too much._

_All the affection, all the worry, all the stress, all the anger._

_Too much._   
  


There are some reporters today, and all I offer is a tight-lipped half smile. The two Peacekeepers that have a hold on me are fairly gentle, which I appreciate. Although this whole ordeal is bringing back memories for me, it's no use to dwell on them when these people won't remember.

I doubt the reporters and Peacekeepers are the same. I doubt, even if they were, that they would remember how two years ago I was an emotional mess.

Johanna is waiting by the doors of the train beside Blight, who's already been brought. I sadden at the thought that no one must have said goodbye to him, because Johanna and I were really his only family.

As I'm placed on the other side of Johanna, and Rupalia comes trotting from behind me to get into the frame, several pictures are snapped. I keep my serious looks, not wanting to give them something good.

Johanna then turns to me, a plan in her mind already. "We'll make sure Finnick is there waiting for you as soon as you get off the train," she says loudly.

"Thank you," I say, with fake gratefulness. "I need to see him— I need to— I need him to know we're going in together— he probably hasn't gotten on the train yet."

Johanna smiles as she leads Blight and I into the train.

As soon as Rupalia has disappeared to her room like she did before, either to talk to Effie or redo her already minimal makeup, I growl and kick a chair aside.

"Calm your shit, Morgan," Johanna mumbles. "It's not going to be that bad."

"I don't want to have to pretend to be in love with anyone!" I cry. I appreciate how she knew immediately what the majority of the anger and frustration I feel is channeled to. While I'm furious that we have to go back, and mad I have to go in for certain, I'm more displeased of the image I have to create for myself.

"Morgan," Blight sighs as he sits on the couch with a bowl of grapes on his lap. "Sacrifices need to be made. You know that."

"The lovesick card?" I growl. "Again? It's— it's not even going to be believable. It won't make sense for me to ally with anyone other than Blight to begin with!"

"But it's a way to keep you alive," Johanna reminds me. "And playing the lovesick card kept you alive."

"And it killed Griffin!" I scream. Johanna and Blight go dead silent. "If I hadn't been the main focus, Griffin wouldn't have also been a target! Realistically, everyone was after me and because I was hurt, he had to sacrifice so much to protect me. HIS OWN LIFE! HELL, I SHOULDN'T BE STANDING HERE! GRIFFIN SHOULD BE ALIVE, NOT ME!"

"Oh really?" Johanna snaps. "You'd wish this upon him? He would have been a twelve year old Victor. Maybe he wouldn't be a prostitute but in this Quarter Quell he'd be FOURTEEN. Fourteen against people who are twenty and over and well, some seventeen year olds who can still commit murder."

"I should have done more to save him," I mutter, angrily plucking at some grapes from Blight's bowl as I slump down next to him.

"You're a whirlwind of emotions right now," Blight tells me calmly. "I know it. This is flooding you with memories of Misha. Of Griffin. Of your family. Morgan, things happen and the world is just fucked up. But right now we have a chance to make things better, so you need to suck it up. No one's telling you to do more than kiss Finnick, so you'll live."

I hiss and cross my arms.

Blight takes a grape and puts it in my mouth. "I know that Finnick hurt you. I know it. I watched it happen and I'm so sorry I didn't stop it. I didn't know why he was doing it. But I swear to you— that man adores you. He's adored you since he met you. He's always admired you and he always trusted you a lot. He made a horrible mistake. But that's human. And he's apologized. Soon, you WILL find it easier to forgive him. Because I know you still care about him. Yes, maybe this is forced, but it's giving you a chance to evaluate your trust for him. Make him prove to you that he cares and he's a better man now than he was a year ago. People can change, Morgan."

I don't argue. Blight's made a good point, and I suppose I should be doing more with it.

"I just don't want to get hurt again," I mumble at last, once I've finished chewing two more grapes from the bowl. "It hurt me so much to lose Brannock. It hurt more to lose Misha. Gloss just broke me because I was stupid enough to believe he cared. And Finnick— if I let myself get attached and he either fucks me up emotionally or... or he dies in these Games— I won't be able to handle it. I'll be useless to the cause."

"Finnick won't die, you know that," Blight says. I notice he's talking quickly so Johanna can't intervene, since she's not as patient with these things as he is. "He's strong, and resourceful. And he won't hurt you again. I know that."

I half smile, taking another grape.

By the time the ride is over, we haven't really talked about much else. Blight is in a really downcast mood, that much I can tell, and it's really sad.

As soon as the doors open, it's like my subconscious forces a smile onto my face, because suddenly I'm back to being the hot badass victor that the Capitol loves.

My mind is fairly blank as I wave at the cameras and walk alongside Blight from the station to the Training Center.

Of course, the cameras follow.

I'm about to walk through the door when I hear a voice behind me. "Morgan!"

I recognize it immediately. How could I not?

I turn, still smiling, to see Finnick wading through the sea of reporters, Mags trailing behind him.

Annie wasn't made to come. Either Mags was reaped or Mags volunteered for her. Annie is safe. I'm definitely still worried about Mags, but I'm so utterly relieved that Annie won't be going in with us.

Finnick has a determined look on his face, and I know immediately that the acting starts now. He's moving fast, and the reporters are following him with the cameras because one, he's cried out my name, and two, he's moving like a demon towards me.

My feet take off, and suddenly I'm running towards him. Part of me is definitely excited, especially after what Blight said. The other part just wants to get it over with.

Finnick looks surprised, which is definitely a normal reaction considering I haven't even smiled at him for a long time. He catches me as I jump into his arms, and he picks me up with such ease I gasp, because he's a hell of a lot stronger than I had anticipated.

He pulls me so close to him that our chests crash together. His strong hands grip my thighs and make my legs wrap around his waist. On impulse my hands fly to his face, caressing his cheeks. I briefly make eye contact with him, and his gorgeous eyes are shining.

Then he crashes his lips onto mine.

It's completely electrifying. I have kissed too many people to keep count of now, what with my unfortunate predicament as well as past boyfriends and lovers and whatnot.

But this, this is so different. It's like the sensors in my lips shoot signals throughout my entire body that relax me into it, and I truly believe Finnick is someone I can trust. He moves his lips hard against mine, and I feel firsthand why he's so popular, because his kisses are just that good, with a roughness that lets me know how passionate he can be, but with strength held back to show me that he in no way wants to hurt me. I can feel the heat from my lips all over my body, and I'm finding myself leaning further into Finnick, craving more of the intoxicating and completely overwhelming feeling of our lips together and nothing else mattering.

He finally pulls away, gasping softly for air, and abruptly presses his forehead on mine, so I can see his eyes are still shining. I bite my lip, and feel my cheeks slowly turning red.

My breath hitches as I suddenly hear cheering, and I pull further away to see that the reporters had been in an absolutely stunned silence for however long we kissed, but now had exploded in joy.

I feel my cheeks actually burning as Finnick sets me down. I almost stumble because suddenly it's like my legs don't work.

"I'll see you later, gorgeous," Finnick tells me, his hands holding mine. I can see from the way he looks at me that he enjoyed that, and I have to admit I did too.

"S-See you," I stammer before awkwardly walking to Blight and Johanna, who look pleased. I look back at Finnick and offer him the first genuine smile I've given to him in awhile, before allowing myself to be led to the Remake Center.

"That was so good," Blight whispers as we walk together. "That— that looked so real."

"I-I think it kind of was," I admit. "B-But don't tell Finnick. I'm still mad at him...."

Blight grins, and waved just before he's taken to his station.

I'm met by Savera, Winnow, and Zenobia, who simply wash me since I'm already completely waxed. They look sad to see me here, but don't voice their opinions.

Finally, they take me to another room and leave me naked for Griz.

He comes in, and crosses his arms. "Hmm."

"Do you always start like that?" I ask, a small smile tugging at my lips. It's familiar, and nice, in a way.

"Yes," Griz says. "Now— are you on birth control?"

I flinch. "Uh, I am. For the job."

"Okay, well stop taking it. I think your skin has been changing hues because of it. It's a very common thing but I doubt you'll need it now."

I know he's being realistic but the comment somewhat hurts, so I nod numbly.

"I am glad to note you look much more muscular," Griz says. "It's very appealing. Now, about your hair..."

"My hair?" I ask. "What about it?"

"Have you ever wanted it shorter?"

"Yes. I think so, at least. Why?"

"Good. Because I'm going to cut it whether you like it or not."

"What's the use?" I ask. "I mean, I'm not exactly complaining, but what— am I going to get less branches sticking out?"

Griz chuckles. "Well, yes. Unfortunately your District doesn't give me much to work with. See, if it'd been Johanna, I'd force her to wear many branches until she looked like a pine tree. I love pissing her off. But you, well, you're too strong willed anyway, and you snap at me a lot more than she does. I'll let you organize your own costume once I give you the materials."

"So you like me better than Johanna, is what you're saying?"

"You're our little one. Our jewel. We all appreciate you most. I always put more effort into your outfits. Gliese likes to do Johanna's, and my sister isn't the best at tailoring to personalities, she just comes up with things."

He brings out a rack with different sized dresses that look exactly like tree trunks— the design resembling bark. I want to laugh but that might be disrespectful.

"This," I say, pulling out one particular dress. It has a halter top, and is clearly skin tight, reaching my mid thighs.

"Hmm. I think it'd look good. What do you have in mind?"

"A wreath of leaves around my ankles and wrists and maybe my waist if you want. Also one over my head, since my hair will be short. And I suppose anything you want to add."

Griz smiles. "I like the way you think, Morgan. Hmm... perhaps I'd like to add paper angel wings to the back."

I don't object, since I did give him free reign to do it.

Instantly, it's like the excited Griz appears because he grabs the nearest pair of scissors and snips my nearly waist length hair to barely hang above my shoulders. It looks cute, and I wonder why I didn't do this before.

Once Griz has made my wreaths and wings and fastened them onto me, we step outside to where Gliese appears to have squeezed Blight into a bark colored suit with a leaf pattern on it and a paper crown atop his head.

"Griz definitely didn't do you dirty," Blight scoffs playfully. "I made Gliese mad by being pessimistic."

"Mm bad choice," I taunt. "Griz let me put this together."

"Lucky," Blight sighs. "I had absolutely no free will in this process. Now how about we go find Johanna? Chariots are going to be brought in soon. You can hang out with your loverboy."

I blush. "Shut up."

"I think you've forgiven him."

"N-No I haven't."

"No of course not to his face, but internally yes."

"No...."

"Come on Morgan, we both know you hate admitting you were wrong, and that's exactly what you'd be doing here."

"Ugh, fine," I say. "But don't tell him. He needs to fully prove it to me before I can tell him to his face that I've forgiven him."

"Well lucky for you, you have his whole week. Who knows, this may start to be real for you."

"Blight I don't want to think about that."

"Why, because you'll get excited?"

"Shut up."

He smirks as he offers me his arm to take, and we walk together out of the Remake Center and into the bustling hall where the other victors are arriving. I can see the familiar faces of Seeder and Chaff arriving from Eleven, and quickly going into the Remake Center. Then I lock eyes with Katniss Everdeen, and offer her a smile before waving. I can see that beside her is Peeta, so I know immediately that Haymitch was reaped and Peeta volunteered. I suppose that changes it all, then, and now we must protect Peeta at all costs as we scan the arena next week and find out if the lightning tree and whatever resource Plutarch mentioned is there to solidify the plan.

Blight and I walk straight to the pit of the Training Center, where chariots are indeed being set up by several of the trainers.

Johanna is nearby where District Seven's will be, though the chariot itself is not there yet.

"Wow, you don't look as much like trees as usual," she says in an almost snarky voice, as if she's jealous that now Griz and Gliese abandoned the branch-in-hair ordeal she had to deal with. I don't dare tell her Griz wouldn't have left her looking somewhat normal the way I do.

Johanna then seems to visibly cool down. "Well, you have some leisure time. Finnick isn't here yet, Morgan but—"

She stops suddenly, her eyes locking on something that is clearly behind me.

Against my better judgement, I turn around.

Gloss is standing in the doorway, staring at me.


	21. Chapter 21

I have to do a double take.

Am I hallucinating? Are my eyes playing tricks on me?

Or is the bastard who took advantage of me and emotionally reduced me to nothing but a prostitute standing right before me, a fellow tribute?

No. No, this is bullshit. There have to be more Victors from One— he can't have really been reaped or be the only volunteer, it isnt possible.

District One and District Two especially have so many Victors. What the hell are the odds?

This isn't even the worst of it. In an instant Cashmere is beside Gloss, and she leads him away, not having noticed me. His eyes linger on me for a second then deviate, but that's still the least of my worries because behind them walk in Enobaria and Brutus.

It suddenly feels like my entire body is on fire. Not only do I have to put up with Gloss, but also Enobaria, the woman who went and ratted my family out and left them dead. The woman who made sure my reaction to their death was televised.

I stumble back into Johanna and Blight as Enobaria looks at me. She bares those disgusting razor sharp golden teeth at me, and I feel the pit of my stomach churning.

I sprint to the nearest trashcan, and in an instant am spitting into it, not throwing up, because all I've eaten is grapes and there really is nothing to vomit out.

Johanna and Blight are beside me in an instant. "Morgan are you okay?" Blight asks frantically.

"J-Just spitting," I croak out, feeling my eyes watering, though mostly from the need to retch.

"Morgan... it's okay... they're not going to hurt you," Johanna offers.

"They will," I choke as I spit into the trash can again. "If I don't get them first, they will."

"Then try to get them first! I know you can, I believe in you."

I stand up straight and Blight offers me a towel, which I use to wipe my mouth. "I-I need to go walk around," I say, trying to not look at the door in case someone worse walks in.

They don't object.

I walk away, muttering obscenities to myself once they're out. I don't bother saying hi to any other tributes, especially not the ones in the plan, because all I can think about is whether I'll even be able to kill Gloss and Enobaria before they ruin our plan.

I just can't let them hurt Katniss and Peeta. That's my only objective. I can't care about myself anymore.

I'm walking aimlessly around when I find myself approaching Katniss Everdeen, who stands alone.

"Hi," I say, stopping beside her, and letting out a shaky breath as I rub my arms.

"You okay?" She asks immediately, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm fine. What about you? Still playing lovesick?"

She blushes. "Mm." I know that's a yes, but she can't voice it.

"I sympathize," I sigh. "They're making me do it again."

"With who?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

There is a sudden crunching sound by my ear. Katniss and I both turn our heads to see none other than Finnick Odair beside us.

"Him," I mumble, half smiling as he smirks at me.

"Talking about me, dear?" Finnick asks, leaning so close his sea green eyes are mere inches away from mine.

"Maybe," I say casually. "Just chatting with Katniss."

He pops a sugar cube into his mouth and looks at Katniss, now intrigued. "Hello, Katniss." He says it as though they've known each other for years.

"Hello, Finnick," she says, obviously uncomfortable with his proximity.

"Want a sugar cube?" He says, offering his hand, which is piled high. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas we... well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."

"No thanks," Katniss replies. "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though."

She makes a good point. He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so that he can't technically be called naked, but he's about as close as you can get. I'm sure his stylist thinks the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better, and it works because of his job. The Capitol citizens who have been our customers are practically all rich, and those who see him and I tonight will be more willing to sponsor us after our services.

He smirks. "You're absolutely terrifying me in that getup," he tells her. "What happened to the pretty little girl dresses?"

"I outgrew them," Katniss says simply.

Finnick takes the collar of her outfit and runs it between his fingers, and I have to admit I'm sort of jealous, though I know he's just teasing her. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need," Katniss says. This is exactly why I like her. "What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?"

Interesting question, stuff I haven't even thought of. What does Finnick even spend money on?

"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," says Finnick.

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" Katniss asks.

She knows something about him having lovers in the Capitol, it's the common story he and I share to cover up our job. But clearly she's in the dark about how horrific it is.

"With secrets," he says softly. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with hers, which I know looks bad since Katniss is supposed to be with Peeta. Additionally, it's making my skin turn hot. "What about you, girl on fire?" He whispers to her. "Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

Katniss's eyes flicker to me as she blushes, almost as if she expects me to save her.

"Finnick," I say, finding myself gritting my teeth. "Let her be."

He smirks, and Katniss manages to say, "no, I'm an open book. Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."

"Unfortunately I think that's true," Finnick replies. There is a pause. "Peeta is coming. Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and steps back, moving to stand directly in front of me.

"Jealous?" He teased, putting his arm tight around me, his strong hand fastening to my waist.

"Yes," I mutter. "Now, let's give the lovebirds some room."

I lead him away, my heart pounding at having admitted to myself just two seconds ago that I'm jealous that Finnick was teasing Katniss.

"You look very stunning," he says as he looks me up and down.

"You look comfortable," I reply, not looking at him.

"I bet you'd love to take it off."

"I would, so I could choke you with it." I aim a slap near his groin and he catches my arm swiftly, his hand around my wrist, the gesture so commanding I feel myself blush.

"Watch it," he purrs, turning me to face him, and keeping his arms around my waist. "Don't want to cause a scene."

"Don't be dirtier than you need to be," I say, struggling to get this blush off my cheeks.

He smirks. "You enjoy it."

"No I don't."

"Come on, we used to fake flirt all the time."

"That was before—"

"I said I was sorry, Morgan, and I meant it. I've really missed being your friend, and I'm hoping I can make up for it."

"Then don't push it," I mumble. "Please. I just... I can't get too deep into this. It's supposed to be fake."

He lifts his eyebrows. "Too deep into this? Hmm, is that you saying there's a chance I can win you over?"

He seems to be liking the idea of a challenge.

"I didn't say that," I whisper.

"You implied it. And I'm not opposed to it, you know. I still really like you. Annie's been reminding me constantly how much of a bonehead I was for not asking you out sooner."

"I'm more surprised you and Annie aren't an item," I mumble. "I always thought you were. I remember you talked about a special girl..."

He flinches. "Shit, that wasn't my intention. Morgan...." he takes my hands and squeezes them. "That special girl has always been you. Annie wanted to meet you so bad because I couldn't stop talking about you. It's always, always been you. And now... now that we'll be working so closely together, we can make this work. We can, and it'll be fine."

I bite my lip, flattered but not wanting to show it. "Does this even make sense? For us to be together? Everyone thinks we have zillions of lovers in the Capitol. Is anyone going to believe that you of all people chose me?"

"It makes perfect sense in my opinion. Is it not our job to charm anyone and everyone? Besides, they'll understand we have great chemistry, especially after that kiss. It shouldn't be a problem."

"It's also our job not to get attached, Finnick," I say quietly. "You know that they think we just leave after awhile, because they can't know the truth."

"Yes but that doesn't mean we can't have possibly gotten attached to each other. You're hot, I'm hot, we've been friends. I screwed up but I swear to God I'm a better person now and I'll prove it to you. That kiss... Morgan that kiss made me feel more alive than I have in awhile. This can work."

"Finnick I.... I don't know."

He starts to move, and next thing I know I'm being backed into the wall.

That brings back a memory that makes my cheeks heat up more than they already are.   
  


" _I didn't trust you," Finnick says once all the others are at lunch and we are alone being acquainted with each other. "I knew what Johanna was doing but well, Benjamin let your little seductive act fool him and look where that got him."_

_I gulp, and move away, only to find myself reaching the end of the couch._

_"You'll be good at this," Finnick says, his voice lower. "You already know how to manipulate people, seduce them to lead to their downfall." He's moving closer, and I get up, backing away. He smirks and gets up, moving toward me so fast that I stumble backwards right into a wall._

_Finnick's body presses agains mine immediately, and he slams his hands on either side of my head, making me flinch as I struggle to crane my neck up to keep eye contact._

_"W-Why are y-you doing this?" I choke, my heart pounding in my chest. "I d-didn't mean to... I swear... I didn't... I don't..."_

_"Just as an example of how you're going to have to be," he breathes in a husky voice. I smell mint. "Consider this a warning." His voice goes quiet, and I realize he's not threatening me, he's trying to help me. "They are going to hurt you in ways you can't even imagine," he says so softly I can barely hear him even though his mouth his right beside my ear...._   
  


Finnick looks me over, sliding his hands up my sides in a way that makes my skin tingle. He takes my wrists and pins them on either side of my head, which makes me shriek softly, his body now pressing against mine.

He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. It's probably what drives most people crazy during his sessions. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hot. Hell, every part of him is hot.

"You intend to make this a challenge, don't you?" He asks, his voice as low and husky as it was before. "Well I'll take it up, officially. Give me this week. I'm going to prove to you I am a good man and I'm deserving of you."

"Finnick—"

He releases one of my wrists to put a single finger over my lips and hush me. "Let me finish. You are radiant. Not just physically, but mentally. You have this energy that's captivating. You're brilliant and determined and generous and kind and so beyond selfless that the past me was never deserving of you. But present me wants to give it a shot and show you I have what it takes to be a good man. Give me a chance to prove it. To show you I'm good. Morgan this... this game we play of pretend so we can ally with Katniss and Peeta— it isn't just an obligation to me. It's my chance to show you that I can be a great man for you. You, you make me a better man. Give me a chance. Please."

I gulp. He's so hot right now and it's radiating off of my body. I'm completely astonished by his actions but appealed by his words. He sounds genuinely determined to earn my trust again.

"Fine," I whisper. "You have this week. But you can't... you can't lie to me about anything. You can't sugarcoat things. I need to see how we work for real, Finnick. And... you need to initiate most of this fake flirting too... because I sort of struggle with that and you owe me that help."

He smirks, looking triumphant. "You aren't going to regret this. I promise you."

He leans in and presses a soft kiss on my lips, which is so different from the rough, passionate one we shared earlier. I sigh into it and he releases my wrists, merely sliding his arm back around me and leading me to my chariot, where Johanna and Blight appear to have been talking for the past while.

Finnick kisses my cheek, then brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. "I'll be seeing you around then, Morgan."

"I'll see you, Finnick," I whisper, blushing as he pulls away, walking toward his chariot.

There is a dead silence between Johanna and Blight.

"Wow," Johanna mutters, though I can see she's excited. "That's a change."

"He's really determined," I say, fanning my face a bit. "He's going to try and uh, win me over, I guess."

"Mmm Plutarch and Haymitch are the matchmakers of the century," Blight muses.

"Hey, I tried to do it first," Johanna points out.

"Hush," I say, feeling the blush subside as I climb into the chariot.

The chariot exits after a short while, and Blight and I put on our fake smiles to wave at the crowd.

Many of my suitors catch my eye and blow me a kiss, and I return all. To some extent I'm grateful to know them, even if it sucked, because if they are my sponsors they will keep me and my allies alive, most likely.

I don't pay attention as we arrive to the City Circle and begin to listen to President Snow's speech from his balcony. He welcomes us all to the Quell, then the anthem plays, and we make our final trip around the circle. I can see the president's eyes are fixated on a particular chariot— the one holding Katniss.

He's really gunning for her death. But little does he know......

I don't really feel my body relax until I'm finally heading to the elevators. Blight and Johanna go up first, and I wait behind for Finnick to come.

He arrives soon after with Mags, and I smile and greet her. "It's nice to see you," I tell her.

She simply nods and shakes my hand.

"Mags, do you mind if Morgan hangs out with us?" Finnick asks kindly.

Mags shakes her head to show she doesn't mind. Finnick grins and takes my hand, and we're walking to the elevator when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

My heart nearly explodes seeing Gloss.

"What do you want?" Finnick snarls immediately, letting go of my hand and stepping in front of me.

"Calm down, Odair, we can't hurt each other yet," Gloss says, licking his lips maliciously. "I won't touch your little whore."

"Don't you dare call her that, bastard," Finnick growls. "Did you forget the beating I gave you?"

Gloss flinches, and I can see his hand immediately go to shield his abdomen.

"Seems you didn't," Finnick taunts, crossing his arms.

"Shut your mouth, Odair," Gloss snaps. "You're just sealing the deal for me to find Miss Reeves here in the arena first thing and have my way with her before killing her and throwing her body away like the trash she is."

I have to grab Finnick's arms to stop him from reacting.

"You touch her," Finnick growls furiously, "and I will make sure that sister of yours finds out what kind of pain a trident can do to a person."

This clearly makes Gloss back down, because he steps back. "Fine," he hisses. "Regardless, I'm supposed to inform you and her—" he barely looks at me, "that the President is looking for you. And before you ask, no it's not a fucking prank."

"Hmm." Finnick moves so Mags and I are both shielded from Gloss as he leads us back down the hall.

Gloss laughs malevolently. "See you later, Reeves. Or should I call you Odair too?"

"Whatever you want," I snap. "Morgan Odair is a badass fucking name."

He growls and storms to the elevator.

Finnick turns to me and I can see him breathing hard.

"Hey, calm down," I say quickly, my hands on his chest. "Y-You didn't have to."

"Of course I did. I'm not letting that bastard put his hands on you again. Come on, let's go see Snow."

We don't have to walk too long. Halfway down the hall, a Peacekeeper waves for us to follow. He takes us into a room and instructs Mags to sit before taking Finnick and I into another room where President Snow is sitting in an armchair.

"Hello there," he says pleasantly. "Please, sit."

Conveniently, a love seat has been placed for us.

Finnick keeps his hand around my waist and takes me to sit down.

"Look at that," Snow muses. "Two of my most prized workers, falling for each other."

"I didn't want to," I say half-truthfully. "I didn't think it was wise, considering the job. But today, when I saw him.... I couldn't stop thinking about how we'll probably both die. And we need to make the best of it."

"If you're wondering sir, since I'm sure you're aware," Finnick adds, "we did have an argument. We've been rekindling it when we pass each other on jobs, and we can't hold back what we feel anymore. This is my last chance to have a woman who I really love. I hope you understand."

President Snow smiles sadistically, as if he's pleased with our desperation of being with each other because he's orchestrating our deaths. "I do understand. I didn't call you in to reprimand you. I just wanted to know why the reporters had been so shocked. But this I enjoy. It's... refreshing to have another couple. Certainly adds a twist to the Games."

"It'll make it more interesting when one of us dies, right?" I say on impulse.

President Snow laughs. "She's smart, isn't she, Finnick? Yes, Miss Reeves, it does make it more interesting. I trust you'll both be allied together."

"Yes sir," Finnick says. "Our preliminary group is Blight, Mags, Morgan, and I. We probably won't accept others in, but training may dictate that later."

"Excellent choice," Snow muses. "Well then, don't let me disturb you from having a cozy session. Thanks to me you both have the skills to please each other."

The comment enrages me, and I tense. Luckily, Finnick can feel this, and he holds my waist tight to keep me from lashing out.

"Yes sir, thank you," Finnick says calmly. I can't understand how he manages to be so calm.

"You are dismissed," Snow says at last.

I stand quickly, and we leave as fast as we entered, taking Mags to the elevator.

We stop at the fourth floor, and Finnick walks us both to their room before taking us in. He gets Mags settled into her bed, then approaches me from my seat in the kitchen.

"How about we ah, go to the roof?" He asks.

I know exactly what he means.

Loud winds. Private chats.

"Of course," I say. "Lead the way."

He smiles and leaves only to return dressed in a fluffy robe, and carrying one for me. I blush and duck behind a door to strip off my outfit, then wrap the robe around myself and take his hand.


	22. Chapter 22

Once we're on the roof, seated comfortably on a couch, I let out a loud sigh.

"So?" I ask. "What would you like to discuss?"

"You're a cruel woman for making me come up with that." He readjusts himself so he's laying down, his head on my lap. I blush and begin to pet his hair, remembering he would do it for Annie when she was distraught.

"That feels nice," he whispers.

"I know. That's why I'm doing it."

"Well sorry for bringing it up, then."

I find myself laughing. "Mmm I missed this."

"Me making you laugh? Come to think of it, I haven't actually heard you laugh like that in awhile."

"You like it, do you?"

"I like everything about you, Morgan."

I blush and lean back so I don't have to look at his face while we talk. "Mmm how about we play like... screw, marry, kill, or something?"

"A childhood game?" Finnick asks.

"Woah, if you were playing that as a child—"

"I'm kidding. You give me names first."

"Hmm... Johanna, Annie, and— wait, can I throw in a boy too?"

"Only if I can throw in a woman for you."

"Alright. Johanna, Annie, and Blight."

"Of course I'd marry Annie. She's my family, my best friend. You're my lover and soulmate but she's also another variation of me, but female. Johanna well... she's my good friend and all but I'd have to say kill because Blight is a very good looking man."

"I've never thought of him that way," I say, scrunching my nose. "He's like a father to me."

"Oh you made that clear at our little powow with Plutarch and Haymitch. I'm glad too, I'd be far more jealous watching you suck Blight's face."

"Ew, you nasty, don't put that imagine in my face."

He chuckles. "Fine. Um, ooh, this is a good one— Laurel, Silka, and Plutarch."

"That's good? You're so lame. Uh, screw Laurel probably, she was very good looking. Kill Silka, I really haven't been able to stand her since she said what she did. And uh, I suppose marry Plutarch. He's kind enough."

"Mmm maybe they should have made you fake date Plutarch," Finnick teases.

"Haha, so funny," I say sarcastically. "How about... Johanna, me, and ah, Haymitch."

"Haymitch is dying, unfortunately. And uh... well now this gets difficult."

"Wow, thanks."

"No no, I mean... well being your husband would be probably really incredible, we work well together and marriage... especially for this scenario... would imply uh, a lot more screwing."

I blush, because I haven't given much thought to Finnick and I even being so intimate— at least not until now after Snow's comment and this.

"Alright," I say quietly. "Uh... your turn."

When he doesn't immediately say anything, I look down and see his face scrunched up in concentration. I giggle and trace my fingers around his furrowed eyebrows, then his pouted lips, and his fine jawline. "What are you thinking?"

"Morgan you can take a joke, right?"

"Finnick, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking—"

"Well I don't want to offend y—"

"Finnick, you can bring Misha in."

He relaxes a bit. He has to understand by now that I'm not overly sensitive, and won't hold something like this against him.

"Alright. Um... Misha, Haymitch, and I."

"Easily killing Haymitch. But uh..."

I stop. I don't really know. My intimate relationship with Misha was mostly just that. I loved him but definitely not to the extent that I'd marry him— I don't think we could have really worked. As much as I knew Misha cared for me, as reckless as he was, I think we would have despised being around each other so much, and we would have hated the obligations of marriage. Misha was so much more physical than emotional— he thought to solve everything with a kiss, or with taking me to bed, and that wasn't how it all really worked.

Finnick is so different, but also similar to Misha. He has the same passion, but he's much more emotional (to an extent of course) and he is able to understand people without needing a physical attachment the way Misha did.

I think I could love Finnick more than I ever loved Misha.

"Screw Misha, and marry you," I say at last. I can see Finnick look at me then quickly away, but the blush that appears is prevalent.

"Can we uh, play another game, or something?" He asks quietly.

"Yes," I respond. "Uh, how about truth or dare?"

"Alright. But I know you'll chicken out of half the dares."

"Hush, I just don't like being embarrassed!" I protest, which makes him laugh.

"We can make it just a game of intimate or stupid questions," he offers.

"Fine," I say. "You start."

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen?"

"Probably you wearing that net today," I tease. Finnick puts his hand on his chest in fake offense, and I laugh. "Okay, well, who's the dumbest person you know?"

"You," he teases back. "Just kidding, just kidding. Uh, probably.... one of my tributes awhile back. Complete airhead. Hmm— favorite food?"

"Nothing Capitolian, that's for sure. And come on, you should know this. I absolutely love those mashed potatoes mixed with carrots and topped with gravy that they make in my District."

"Oh I'm sorry that District Four isn't as exotic but I swear I'd never heard of those," he says, smirking.

I giggle and smack his arm. "Okay... ugliest person you know?"

"Also you— and no, I'm also kidding."

"I knew you were kidding because you keep telling me I'm pretty or something."

"Yeah, because you are." He sits up abruptly. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Morgan whatever-your-middle-name-is Reeves. I mean it."

I bite my lip as I blush. "I uh, I don't have a middle name. And for the record... you're very gorgeous— ah, I mean handsome."

He chuckles. "I can be gorgeous. And how come?"

"I don't know, my parents didn't do the whole middle name thing. Do you have one?"

"Of course I do. Finnick Samuel Odair." (A/N: I had to!)

"That's a cute name," I say. "So if I call you Sam or something—"

"I will tickle attack you because I love how you say my name."

"Finnick?" I ask quizzically. "I'm just saying it normally."

"No, you say it very specifically. I can't describe it really, but you do. It sounds better when you say it."

"Okay, Finnick," I purr, leaning closer to him. "Finnick, Finnick, Finnick."

"Stop that or I'll have to tickle you," he warns.

"Why stop, Finnick? I thought you liked it. Finnick, Finnick..."

He abruptly pins me on the couch beneath him and his fingers work over my sides, making me scream and giggle as he tickles me.

"Say you're sorry," he purrs in my ear as he keeps tickling me.

"N-N-Never!" I shriek, squirming and trying to kick him off.

"Come on, say it," he says, his legs on top of mine to pin me down.

"No!" I cry, covering my face as he starts to rub his head over my neck, the hair tickling against it and making me squirm more.

"You have to say it or I won't stop," he teases, his hands all over my sides and making my whole body feel ticklish.

Finally, I can't stand it. "Finnick— Finnick I'm sorry!"

He pulls away immediately, chuckling and helping me up. I stick my tongue out playfully at him, and he pulls me in.

Our chests crash together and my breath hitches, because we've both immediately gone silent.

"I want to kiss you," Finnick whispers, his hands rubbing down my back, and his fingers looping around the ruffles on my robe to keep me near him.

"Then do it," I whisper.

He doesn't wait another second before crashing his lips onto mine.

__________

In the morning, I'm tired.

Finnick and I must have stayed on the roof until past two in the morning just kissing, and then talking for a bit, before kissing again. At one point it almost got a bit too intimate, but our good judgement made sure we went to sleep before going too far.

"Wake up, Morgan, time for training!" Johanna calls as she knocks on the door.

"Five more minutes!" I whine, covering my head with a pillow.

She just barges in. "If you weren't so busy staying up sucking face with Finnick, you wouldn't be so tired."

"Well you can't blame me," I hiss, getting up reluctantly.

"Fine," Johanna says, rolling her eyes. "At any rate, you're going to be late for training. It's already nine."

"Okay, be real, NO ONE will be there on time except maybe the Careers."

"And your biggest enemies are the Careers, so don't you need to train?"

I grumble and walk out of the room, getting dressed in a simple sports bra and leggings as well as tennis shoes. I try to put my hair in a messy bun, and then remember it's too short for that now. It saddens me a bit, until I decide to pull some strands from the side and tie them back.

I them sit for breakfast and eat quickly. I notice Blight still in pajamas on the couch.

"Hello, why doesn't Blight have to get ready?" I ask Johanna as she grabs several rolls of the table, ignoring the Avox that's trying to hand her a plate.

"Because he doesn't want to go at all, and we are going to respect that."

"I didn't say we wouldn't, I was just wondering," I mutter. "What's the matter, Blight?"

"I just don't feel like it," he says simply, shaking his head. "It's not my thing. I'm tired, Morgan, and I don't have the motivation."

"But—"

"I still have it in me, don't worry," he adds tiredly. "Just... go."

I'm worried about Blight as Johanna shoos me away. He looks seriously saddened by this, in a way I didn't think he would be. He'd always been so strong, so this was taking me out of the loop.

On the elevator, I find Katniss and Peeta, by themselves, their hands clasped together.

"Morning," I say, distancing myself from them to not invade their personal space.

"Morning," Katniss responds halfheartedly.

"Good morning," Peeta says a hell of a lot more cheerfully.

I turn to Katniss and smirk. "How much sugar did you give him?"

"Aw, hey—" Peeta begins.

But he doesn't get to finish because the doors open on the fourth floor and Finnick and Mags step in.

"Heading down early, I see," Finnick says, smiling at me.

"Early bird gets the worm, or however the saying goes," I say nonchalantly.

"Hmm okay." He wraps his arms around me and kisses me, which catches me a bit off guard, but doesn't make me pull away.

When the doors open again, we pile off. Finnick allows Mags to go forward while Katniss and Peeta follow her. He lingers behind, placing a hand on my waist.

"You wanted to be alone?" I tease.

"You left me... unsatisfied last night," he says in my ear, his hand squeezing my hip.

"Did I? Poor you."

He smirks and winks.

"Oh come on, Finnick, I didn't think you actually wanted to get so intimate."

"No, no, I won't pressure you. Perfectly fine. But we should definitely meet again tonight. I think I'm doing good at winning you over."

"You think so?" I ask, squinting at him playfully. "Mm, I doubt it."

In a blink of an eye he's flipped me to face him, both his hands tight on my hips as he presses me against the wall, his face inches from mine.

He definitely knows how to give the Capitol a show, and he definitely knows how to make my stomach get filled with butterflies.

"Hmm?" I say, batting my eyelashes. "Something you want to say, Mr. Odair?"

Finnick smirks. "Nothing at all. Just things I want to do."

My skin tingles. It's so clear to me how bad both of us want to continue this, because we've been so close these past twenty four hours, but I know we shouldn't just yet.

"What do you want to do?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "Play cards?"

"You'll see. Meet me at the roof tonight."

I nod, and we walk together to training.

By ten o'clock, only about half of the tributes have shown up. Atala, the woman who runs training, begins her spiel right on time, unfazed by the poor attendance. Maybe she expected it. She runs through the list of stations, which include both combat and survival skills, and releases us to train.

I see Katniss and Peeta split up. While he goes to chuck spears with Brutus from Two and Chaff from Eleven, Katniss goes to the knot tying station, since hardly anyone ever bothers to visit. I distinctly remember the trainer, as we spent a lot of time together in my first games. He was the only one who ever knew I was hiding a great deal of skill.

"I think I'm going to go socialize with Katniss," I tell Finnick. "Maybe you can hang out with Peeta, or something."

"Alright. See you later, beautiful." He pecks my lips and walks away.

I follow in Katniss's footsteps and take a seat beside her at the station where she's already begun to make knots.

"Hey," I say. "Hope you don't mind I came with, I need to freshen up here. Haven't practiced this in awhile."

"No, go ahead," she says, looking like she's happy to have company.

We create an unofficial challenge to see who can tie the most complex knots. Katniss is beating me by a long shot at first, making the simplest ones quicker than me. But when it starts to get harder she slows down, which gives me time to catch up. I'm learning from watching her nimble hands, and managing to find my own shortcuts. I was always good, but the lack of practice keeps me from beating her right away, and I'm taking time to watch her moves to speed my own hands up.

We're neck and neck when we hit a complicated knot that both of us are utterly stuck on. I'm about to forfeit when I feel strong arms being placed around me from behind. Finnick's fingers very easily finish the knot.

"Just like that, Katniss," he says, smirking at her as he presses up against me.

"I thought you were practicing spears," I muse, leaning back against him. "Do you need something?"

"You," he breathes in my ear, which I admit makes my skin tingle.

The tension he creates between us is ridiculous, and I bite my lip.

I turn around to face him, giving him the best seductive smile I have as I bring the rope up so it's the only thing stopping our mouths from making contact. "I need you to teach me how to make that knot properly, first. So... please... teach me," I whisper. "Slowly..."

I can tell Finnick's flustered from how his eyes glitter. He takes the rope and undoes the knot, then, still pressing against me, teaches me how to make the knot. By then Katniss has moved away, definitely not interested in our shenanigans.

Finnick's hands are skilled. I recall him mentioning he did this a lot, as I had mentioned I didn't know that the tribute I had pretended to be infatuated with, Benjamin O'Hara, was good at tying knots. I assume that Finnick must have spent his childhood doing nothing but wielding tridents and manipulating ropes into fancy knots for nets.

"There," he says, holding up a completed knot.

"Why thank you," I say, smirking and slipping out of his arms. I hand the rope back to the trainer. "How about now I teach you one of my skills?"

"Ooh, knives or axes?" He asks, very intrigued.

"Knives first, darling. You won't learn axes anytime soon. You've never held one."

"Touché, sweetheart."

I lead him to the knife throwing station, which is thankfully vacant.

I start first with my own drills, taking knives and throwing them at the targets on the walls. I land every single throw smack in the center. When the trainer begins to have me throw at the dummies that are programmed to move unpredictably, I do not falter, nailing each either on the target on their head or the one on their chest.

"You are actually phenomenal," Finnick breathes behind me. I almost forgot he was there.

"You try," I say. "Here—" I position his hand around the knife. "Focus on just throwing it in the general direction of the target."

He bites his lip in concentration and throws the knife. He's not too bad, cause it actually nails to the far edge.

"Good," I say. "Now, try flicking it like this, and aim for the inner green circle."

I spend a good while with Finnick teaching him to throw knives, and he gets very good at it. Eventually he asks to go play around with the tridents, and I kiss him softly before wandering over to where Katniss has met Beetee and Wiress, and it seems they're making fires together.

Wiress talks about a stitching device she's working on while I start trying to make a fire of my own. "It senses the density of the fabric and selects the strength," she says, and then becomes absorbed in a bit of dry straw before she can go on.

"The strength of the thread," Beetee finishes explaining, smiling knowingly at me. "Automatically. It rules out human error." Then he talks about his recent success creating a musical chip that is tiny enough to be concealed in a flake of glitter but can hold hours of songs.

"Oh yeah," Katniss says. "My prep team was all upset a few months ago, I think, because they couldn't get a hold of that. I guess a lot of orders from District Three were getting backed up."

I can sense this is related to the uprising because Beetee seems to like her response, and I'm glad he keeps his cool.

"Yes," he says. "Did you have any similar back ups in coal production, this year?"

"No," she replies. "Well, we lost a couple of weeks when they brought in a new Head Peacekeeper and his crew, but nothing major. To production, I mean. Two weeks sitting around your house doing nothing just means two weeks of being hungry for most people."

She means no uprising has happened. Not like in my District, where people climbed trees and murdered Peacekeepers.

"Oh. That's a shame," Wiress says, sounding disappointed. "I found your district very..." she trails off, distracted by something in her head.

"Interesting," fills in Beetee. "We both did."

"Well, there aren't very many of us in Twelve," Katniss says. "Not that you'd know it nowadays by the size of the Peacekeeping force. But I guess we are interesting enough."

They begin to move to the shelter station and I follow them. Wiress stops and gazes up at the stands where the Gamemakers are roaming around, eating and drinking, sometimes taking notice of us.

"Look," she says, giving her head a slight nod in their direction. I look up and see Plutarch Heavensbee in the magnificent purple robe with the fur trimmed collar that designates him as Head Gamemaker. He's eating a turkey leg, and not really watching us. So casual.

"Yes, he's been promoted to Head Gamemaker this year," Katniss murmurs.

"No, no," Wiress says. "There by the corner of the table. You can just..."

Beetee squints under his glasses. "Just make it out."

Katniss and I stare in that direction, clearly perplexed. But then I see it. A patch of space about six inches square at the corner of the table seems almost to be vibrating. It's as if the air is rippling in tiny visible waves, distorting the sharp edges of the wood and the goblet of wine someone has set there.

"A force field. They've set one up between the Gamemakers and us. I wonder what brought that on," Beetee says. He looks at me, as if I should be taking a mental note of this.

"Me, probably," Katniss says. "Last year I shot an arrow at them during my private training session."

"Really?" I say. "Damn. My kids were really curious about how you'd scored so high— no offense."

"I was provoked," she insists, her cheeks pink. "So, do all force fields have a spot like that?"

"Chink," says Wiress vaguely.

"In the armor, as it were," finishes Beetee. "Ideally it'd be invisible, wouldn't it?"

Katniss opens her mouth to say something else, but lunch is announced. I don't follow her, as she heads over to Peeta.

Later that night once everyone's gone back to their dorms, I go to mine and put a sweater over my outfit from that day, and grab some bottles of liquor from Johanna's special cabinet before sneaking up to the roof to see Finnick.

By the time I arrive, he's used the sunset's light to set up blankets and make a nice sort of picnic.

"Ah, you brought sustenance!" He cheers, clapping as he watches me come closer.

I giggle. "You're so ridiculous."

As soon as I am seated beside him, we each take a bottle and pop it open, clashing them together and taking a swig.

"You're a lot better at it than you think," Finnick says.

"A lot better at what?"

"Flirting. You wanted me to take the lead but with the ropes today? That was hot."

I blush. "Well I'm decent, that's why I'm so goos at the job, you know. I'm just better at following a lead. It's much more difficult to start it."

"Ah, so you leave me with the difficult task."

"Aw you can handle it, can't you?" I ask.

"Of course I can. I'm not a weakling."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Hey, I carried you with ease yesterday when you kissed me in front of the reporters."

"Are you sure you weren't struggling?" I tease.

"Nah. Besides you hardly weigh anything, you skeletal thing."

"Is that my pet name? Skeletal thing?"

"No, I didn't say that." He takes a long swig from his bottle. "Damn this is the good shit."

"Props to Johanna, this is her liquor."

"Hopefully she doesn't hate us for taking it," he says, raising the bottle in thanks.

We spend a good few hours just talking and drinking. This is probably the most I've ever drank; even when Johanna and I hang out, we don't drink this much— or at least, I don't.

By the time the sun has completely set, Finnick and I are both completely drunk and laughing like hyenas.

"No, your eyes are the same color as— as Griz's hair," I snort, shaking my head as he tries to tickle me again.

"Well your eyes— are the same color— as.... as... as the hair of the District Four horses!" Finnick wheezes, rolling back from how much he's laughing.

"You're dumb," I squeal, rolling onto him and tickling him as retaliation.

"Stop it meanie!" He whines, rolling so he's on top of me and kissing my neck.

"You're a meanie!" I slur, trying to push him off. "Silly Finnick."

"I'm not a silly Finnick, you're just a silly Morgan!"

I let out a loud giggle, and Finnick begins to giggle as well.

"I think... we should go back," I pant as I try to stop giggling.

"It's not... sleepy time," Finnick whines, though he gets up and rolls the blankets while I stumble around to throw the empty bottles away.

"It is, you..." I struggle to find a word. "You.... half dressed."

He looks down at his now bare chest, as we discarded his t-shirt awhile ago. He only has pants on.

"You're always half naked!" I slur, stumbling to hug him, my hands then caressing over his bare chest.

"Do you want to change that half to fully?" He giggles, caressing my cheeks.

"Depends whether you're willing to help me get these clothes off of me," I say, squealing as he suddenly picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

"Always... a gentleman to the lady!" He says thoughtfully. "We are going back now..." he trips and almost drops me as I giggle and point him toward the elevator.

After that, everything becomes a blur. I distinctly remember Finnick taking me back to my dorm, and I remember us stumbling around trying to find where my pillow went before discovering it never moved from its place on my bed. I can recall just barely that at some point we did start kissing.

But for some reason, I can't exactly remember Finnick ever leaving...


	23. Chapter 23

The next morning I wake up and groan, rubbing my eyes.

I get up, pulling the blanket over my body, not really paying attention to the fact that somehow, I'm completely naked.

I honest to God can't remember anything of what happened yesterday, at least not right now.

My hangover must be awful.

I shower, and then dress, and stumble to the breakfast table. Only Johanna is there. I see the clock and find it's eight o'clock. I'm up an hour earlier than I need to be.

Johanna says nothing, but I can tell she's staring at me. As I'm eating I furrow my eyebrows. It's that feeling when the dream you had comes back to you.

"I had a really weird dream," I say, shaking my head. "Really weird."

"What about?" Johanna asks. She looks really interested.

"It's um... nothing," I say. Yeah, I tell myself, it's totally nothing.

"Aw come on, you can trust me," she says, picking at her plate.

"You can't tell anyone," I say, glaring at her. "Absolutely no one."

"Fine," she says. "I won't. Promise."

I bite my lip. "I had a dream I slept with Finnick."

I'm expecting her to look really confused, but she laughs.

"What's so funny?" I inquire, now feeling indignant.

She chokes out her words between gasps. "You— you dreamt— that you slept— with Finnick Odair?"

"Yes, why is that funny? It's probably only my mind being weird since we've been flirting and kissing so much, and well, I'm attracted to him."

Johanna slaps the table. She can't stop laughing. Her face is red and it's clear she can hardly breathe.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap.

"Morgan," she pants, drying her eyes. "Morgan— you didn't dream that."

"I know my dreams, Johanna! You're not in my head, so you don't know!"

"No— no— I mean." She breathes deeply, a malicious smirk on her face. "You didn't dream you slept with Finnick Odair. You ACTUALLY slept with Finnick Odair."

I feel like slapping her. "Excuse me, what?"

"You guys— were so hammered last night. You walked in— tripping over your own feet. Blight and I were talking on the couch when you came in. You— you took him to your room. And we heard— wow— a LOT of noise."

I feel my face slowly start to burn.

"And then— I get woken up to someone moving around— so I come to check— and a still very drunk Finnick wearing absolutely nothing is walking out of here— holding his clothes in his hands."

"Y-You're joking," I manage, feeling my chest tightening as I speak. "No— you— you can't be serious—"

"I swear to you— that's what I saw— and heard."

She's finally stopped wheezing and laughing but she still looks really happy. "You slept with Finnick Odair."

The memories all start to flood back and I shriek, holding my head. "No— no— shit! Oh god— we— we got so carried away— we were so fucking drunk— Johanna! Damn it! Damn it!"

"Woah, woah, calm down— it's not that serious!" She cries. "Jeez, you guys were going to probably end up doing it at some point."

"But— but I expected us to be sober and oh god, Johanna, I'm not on birth control anymore!"

This makes her tense. "You're not? What— why the hell not?"

"Griz told me to stop taking it because it made my skin look bad and I didn't think it really mattered since I'm going into the Games!"

"Morgan! Morgan you can't have been so stupid as just stop taking it! Come on!"

"Johanna I didn't think anything like this was going to happen! How was I supposed to know I was going to end up sleeping with Finnick?"

"Well we all knew it would happen but—"

"What's going on?"

It's Blight. He looks completely exhausted, and must have been woken up by our screaming.

"Apparently Morgan here slept with Finnick last night because they were so goddamn drunk, and now she's telling me she hasn't been on birth control!"

Blight's mouth drops open. "Morgan are you shitting me right now?"

"Don't you start on me too!" I cry, covering my face. I'm completely overwhelmed. "Stop— just stop saying anything— first Johanna was making fun of me and now you're both yelling at me!"

"You can't be serious!" Blight cries, coming closer. "You had unprotected— oh Christ, Morgan! You have to be shitting me, seriously!"

"Blight, we were drunk! I wasn't thinking—"

"Even your subconscious should know now, considering what you work as!"

"Gee thanks for reminding me that I'm nothing but a fucking prostitute."

"Well this fucking prostitute here should know better! God, I can't even look at you right now, I'm disappointed!"

I get off my chair angrily and kick it aside, then storm back to my room to get dressed for my training. Ignoring Blight and Johanna's yelling, I storm out.

As if I don't already feel dumb enough that I let myself get carried away!

It's mortifying. First with Gloss, for me to have been stupid enough to trust him.

Now Finnick.

I don't object to it. I can't really remember it but I can distinctly remember it was enjoyable, and either way I would have probably slept with him another day anyway.

But stupid me, to not be sober enough to thoroughly enjoy it and use protection and such! Sometimes I'm astounded at my own stupidity, and this is definitely one of those times.

When training starts and Finnick walks in, I don't immediately approach him. I stay mostly at the knife station, which Enobaria occupied after lunch yesterday, therefore I'm taking advantage of it today.

It's probably very clear to Finnick that I'm avoiding him, but I don't say anything directly to him.

I wonder if he remembers...

I don't spend too much time following Katniss around like I did yesterday.

I don't know if she felt annoyed or comforted by my presence yesterday. Of course, I doubt she feels comforted, considering who I am, but I like to think she also can sense the connection between us.

Before lunch, I take it upon myself to head to the swords and try to practice. I've never been too excellent at it, since I focused so much on my throwing. Peeta joins me here, and we chit chat a bit while practicing. However, it becomes clear soon that we're both awful at it. We have a good time though, and I feel myself relaxing a bit especially after this morning's events.

I doubt he and Katniss have had an experience like mine and Finnick's. Their relationship still feels pretty fake.

At lunch, I find that Blight has not come down.

I spot Finnick sitting with Mags and I gulp, mustering up my fears before walking to sit with them.

"Hello, Morgan," Finnick says very casually as I sit beside him. "You're being very focused today."

I try to pretend Mags isn't there as I lean closer to him. "Do you remember anything about last night?" I ask.

"No," he says, furrowing his eyebrows. "Should I?"

"Uh, no, you shouldn't," I say immediately. Stupid! I should tell him! He should know!

"Okay," he replies slowly. "I hope I didn't say anything offensive."

"You didn't."

I eat in silence. Finnick tries to kick me softly under the table to get my attention, but for the most part I ignore it until he finally nails me in the calf and I kick him back, and it becomes a session of footsies.

I find myself laughing, and I relax. Maybe Finnick never needs to know. Maybe I never need to actually tell him what we did. He seems really happy anyway, so why disrupt that?

After lunch, I spend some time watching Finnick at the trident station, but then I transition to the axe throwing station, that seems to have been set up for me and me only. No one is there. I take a few throws, glad my arm is still in good condition.

The trainer has me try some throws with complicated positions such as crouched on the ground, doing a handstand, and hanging from the ceiling. She's not surprised I can do it with ease. She's impressed when I spin in midair and throw, always hitting my target without a single flaw.

After awhile however I start to hear some noises. I turn to see that what I hear are arrows falling gracefully.

It seems Katniss is hitting moving targets of fake birds right out of the air. She's really good at it. I wish I could shoot like her.

At one point she manages to take down five birds in one round of them going airborne. The majority of us are staring at her. The Victors from One and Two look envious and hateful. Typical, especially of Enobaria and Gloss. Meanwhile Finnick, Mags, Beetee, Wiress, and I are showing we admire her.

"She's good," I say, moving to stand next to Finnick.

"Yes she is," he says, putting his arm around me.

__________

The day after that is the same.

Finnick and I train, we flirt, we kiss, we talk for hours on the roof. But not once have I brought back any liquor.

Finnick hasn't mentioned that night and I'm starting to wonder if Johanna was just kidding, but my own memories betray me. I can remember Finnick kissing all over my body and mumbling words that shouldn't be spoken outside closed doors. I remember him slipping my clothes off and....

I'm almost angry that he doesn't seem to remember, because that was exhilarating.

The final day of training ends with our private sessions. We each get fifteen minutes before the Gamemakers to amaze them with our skills, but I don't know what any of us might have to show them. They all know us already.

There's a lot of kidding about it at lunch. What we might do. Sing, dance, strip, tell jokes. Mags, who I can understand a little better now, decides she's just going to take a nap. I don't know what I'm going to do. Maybe throw some axes, or some knives. But they already know what I'm capable of. Does it really matter?

Finnick gives me a kiss on the cheek before he goes in, and I'm left alone with Blight, who still looks as sad as the first day.

"Have you told Finnick yet?" He mumbles. He and I still act a bit bitter towards each other. He's angry that I was dumb enough to go to bed with Finnick without any protection, and I'm mad he won't stop snapping about it. Johanna's calmed down, and just finds it funny, which is somewhat irritating.

"No," I say flatly.

Blight simply rolls his eyes.

He goes in before me, and then I am called in.

The Gamemakers are surprisingly all paying attention to me. I decide to take it seriously and throw a few axes and knives intermixed, ripping through the dummies with no problem. But that's all I do. I simply bow to them and leave before they've dismissed me, but I suppose that's enough for them, because they don't call me back.

That night as I'm sitting in front of the screen, I watch Blight get a nine.

"Damn, I really only threw a few things," he says, looking somewhat proud. But then he looks at me and his pride dissipates. I'm like a disowned daughter to him.

I score an astounding eleven, which is much more representative of me than the three I attained during my Games.

"Good girl," Johanna says. "Now your next task— wow them in the interview."

"Alright," I mutter, trudging off to my room without looking at Blight.

The day after I'm feeling sick. Absolutely sick. Johanna decides I must have had food poisoning, as I was the only one who ate from the turkey they brought.

"It's your fault she's sick," Blight tells Johanna scathingly as an Avox hands me some tea. "You ordered the turkey."

"Nonsense! Rupalia sent it to us. She was sad we asked her not to share a dorm with us and that was her bribe."

"Whatever," I groan as I drink the tea. "Leave me alone."

After taking some medicine once I finish the tea, I head down to the lounge, and find that Katniss and Peeta each scored a twelve, making Hunger Games history. I can't imagine what random tasks they did. There's no way those two actually showed off skills. They must have just pissed off the Gamemakers, and this is retaliation. If anything Katniss might have scored an eleven again, and Peeta an eight or something.

"Congratulations," I tell them as I see them heading into the elevator, a picnic basket in their hands.

"Thanks," Peeta says with a wry smile before closing the doors.

I hear they're going to have a picnic on the roof, which must be nice during the day.

Finnick finds me in the lounge, sitting by myself near a window. I'm not really doing much for my interview, just walking aimlessly around.

"Don't you look lovely today."

I don't. I'm dressed in a plain shirt and pants, sitting comfortably before I get glammed up for tonight.

He sits beside me and I debate whether I should bring up what might have happened between us a few nights ago. I do want to tell him....

"Is something bothering you?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

"We slept together," I blurt out.

At first he looks like he doesn't believe it. Then it all seems to flood back.

"So that's why I.... okay..."

"That's all you're going to say?" I hiss. "Finnick we were drunk, it shouldn't have happened like that."

"Morgan..." he takes my hand. "I know we should have maybe waited but it— it's done, and I can't be mad about it. I'm sorry if you wanted me to say more."

I just shake my head, still feeling nauseous.

The next thing he says is probably to try and make me laugh. "Sucks I hardly remember it, huh? That must have been good. It's sad we both were too drunk to enjoy it."

I start to laugh, and suddenly my stomach churns. I rip myself away from Finnick and sprint to the nearest trashcan, collapsing over it, and choking as I throw up into it.

Finnick runs over to me, pulling my hair back, his other hand rubbing my back. "Morgan," he says, sounding worried. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head and gag as I vomit again, my entire body shaking horribly.

"Morgan, should I get a doctor?"

I'm about to say no when I cry out in pain, clutching my burning throat, then just throw up again.

When my vision clears and I'm finally not throwing up, I see Finnick handing me a towel.

I sway on the spot and wipe my mouth, still feeling queasy.

"I'm fine," I say shakily. "Food poisoning. I started to laugh and it triggered everything."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Finnick says, taking the towel and helping me clean some stray bits of vomit. "Need me to take you to the doctor?"

"No... no I'm okay. Listen, I'm going to go up and get some more tea— I had some this morning. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"No, no I'm okay. Go um, go with Mags, she's sitting by herself."

He bites his lip. "Okay...."

I know he's good at reading the fact I want to be alone.

Of course, I don't go upstairs. I make it seem like I'm going that way, but really I go straight to the doctor, because I think I'll be better off getting some stronger medication.

My trip to the doctor proves worse than I think. I feel awful, and the doctor takes my temperature, saying it's not high enough to suggest food poisoning.

She begins to run tests on me and I slump back in the examination chair, feeling awful. Damn that stupid turkey.

"Morgan," the doctor says at last once she's given me some medicine. "You didn't have food poisoning."

"Then what is it?" I say, groaning as I feel my head throbbing.

"You're pregnant."

The words hit me like a knife in the gut.

"I'm.... what?"

"Pregnant. Our tests are advanced enough to see it already. The date of conception was three days ago."

This makes me feel even sicker.

"No— please god no—" I say, covering my face. "You can't be serious—"

"I'll call your mentor—"

"No! She'll just laugh at me! Oh god— god— call— I need— Blight!"

Blight will be furious but it's him I want to see, not anyone else.

When the doctor leaves to bring him in, I begin to cry. This can't possibly be happening.

One, there's proof I slept with Finnick Odair, so my brain can't keep denying it anymore.

Two, I'm carrying his child.

Three, tomorrow I'll be going back into the arena and fighting to the death, which, needless to say, can get me and the small creature inside me killed.

When Blight arrives, his face is pale.

"You're joking." He doesn't sound mad anymore. "Morgan... Morgan..."

I start to cry more, and he pulls me into his arms.

"You— you have to tell Finnick," he says, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Not before the interviews!" I cry. "It'll throw him out of the loop! You saw how horrible I felt finding out my family was dead! If he freaks out because he didn't want a kid or— or he freaks out because our kid is about to enter the arena with us—"

"Fine, then tell him after the interview— but right now, we have to go get you ready. Are you okay to move?"

"N-No..."

Blight has to carry me up, and immediately explains everything to Johanna, who quickly calls Griz and Gliese to come and prep Blight and I for the interviews in our room. Next thing, Rupalia is there and I'm completely overwhelmed with people asking me way too many questions.

"Are you going to tell the father?" Griz inquires as he fixes my hair once I've been able to stop crying. He likes to do it himself rather than let my prep team handle it. Not that there's much to be done with it, considering it hangs just above my shoulders.

"I will... after the interviews."

"It's going to be okay," Johanna says beside me as Griz goes into the closet to get me my dress.

"Don't say it's going to be okay," I whisper to her, my voice shaky. "I made a commitment to do anything to save Peeta and Katniss and now I have to save a c-child— my child—"

"Shhh..." she rubs my back and miraculously, it helps me stop myself from crying.

Griz returns, and he squeezes me into a tight dress than rolls over every curve I have. It's dazzling, but it feels so weird to have it on now, especially since I'm looking in the mirror and wondering what I would look like with a big pregnant belly.

Blight leads me down half an hour early, no doubt subtly trying to direct me to Finnick. But I've cried enough. When I see Finnick I smile and say nothing, which I can tell makes Blight uncomfortable, but he can't judge me, and he definitely can't spill my secret for me.

"You feel better, Morgan?" Finnick asks.

"Yeah, totally," I say airily. "Lots of medicine. I'm all good."

"Alright," he says, kissing my cheek.

When Katniss and Peeta arrive at the end, I want to laugh for the first time in hours. Katniss's dress is magnificent and ridiculous at the same time. A snort slips out of me as everyone else glares at her.

Finally, Finnick says, "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing."

"He didn't have any choice. President Snow made him," Katniss replies defensively.

Cashmere, who is passing nearby us, tosses her flowing blond curls back and spits out, "Well, you look ridiculous!" She grabs her brother's hand and pulls him into place to lead our procession onto the stage. I grit my teeth as I watch Gloss look back at me. The other tributes begin to line up as well.

I go up to Katniss and give her a sympathetic pat on her shoulder, then help fix her pearl necklace. "You do look ridiculous," I say quietly. "But it's Snow's awful dress, not you. You're beautiful."

She smiles, and I pat her cheek. "Make them pay for it, okay?" I say before walking to stand next to Blight.

I can tell Katniss doesn't know what I mean at first. But she'll understand it means the betrayal the majority of the Victors feel at being tossed back into the Games.

"You didn't tell him," Blight notices as I get back in line with him.

"No, I didn't," I mutter. "I told you already. What if it throws him off guard?"

"I think you're more concerned of it throwing you off guard to have his reaction."

I grit my teeth again and don't respond as we're taken onstage.

Caesar Flickerman, hair and face highlighted in lavender this year, finishes his opening spiel, and that's when it becomes apparent— during the interviews— that some are secretly rageful at being back.

Cashmere starts the ball rolling with a speech about how she just can't stop crying when she thinks or how much the people in the Capitol must be suffering because they will lose us. Gloss recalls the kindness shown here to him and his sister, and it makes me gag because he's just a bastard.

Beetee questions the legality of the Quell in his nervous, twitchy way, wondering if it's been fully examined by experts of late.

Finnick is the one who I pay most attention to.

At first he recites a poem he wrote to his one true love in the Capitol, and about a hundred people faint because they're sure he means them.

"Come now, Finnick!" Caesar says enthusiastically. "Don't lead them on."

He nods and chuckles. "Yes, unfortunately I'm not available anymore, and never will be again. That poem was for my love, Morgan Reeves."

About a million people let out either anguished screams at his confirmation of our relationship, and others cheer for us. It's sweet to think that what he said was directed at me.

"Morgan is so amazing," Finnick sighs to Caesar. "She's so fierce and independent, and I love that most about her. She has this way of making me laugh with the sarcastic comments she makes and when we're training, and how patient she is teaching me knives... she's the best."

I blush, wringing my hands anxiously together.

I hope he doesn't leave when he finds out...

When the buzzer sounds, Finnick returns to his place, making sure to come press a firm kiss on my lips on his way back.

"Are you alright?" He asks softly, furrowing his eyebrows, his hand taking mine.

I can't even form words.

"She's still feeling really sick," Blight says quietly. "You guys can talk later."

Finnick doesn't cross Blight. He nods and returns to his spot.

"You have to tell him like, right now," Blight whispers to me.

"Soon," I mumble.

Blight is called up before me, clearly to build up the excitement of getting to talk to me about what Finnick confirmed. He asks if something can't be done about the situation. Surely the creators of the Quarter Quell never anticipated such love forming between the Victors and the Capitol. No one could be so cruel as to sever such a deep bond.

When I'm called up I walk quickly, trying to compose myself the best I can.

"The lovely Morgan Reeves," Caesar says, taking my hand and kissing it. "Who would have thought—?"

I force a giggle. "I wouldn't have thought it either. I mean, I arrive here two years ago and see Finnick and of course I think about how good looking he is but never in a million years would I have imagined that he and I would end up together. I always thought we were just friends."

"I love that!" Caesar says with a laugh, which makes the crowd cheer. "Now, how does it feel, knowing you're going in there but only one will come out?"

I falter. But to everyone it just looks like I'm holding back emotion when in reality I'm thinking about the plan— the plan Haymitch has been telling us about. The plan that might get more than one of us out alive, but also might require great sacrifice.

I could lose Finnick and our child...

"I hadn't really thought of that, to be honest," I lie smoothly. "But... I care about him so much, Caesar. I've got the skills to get myself out but I'd rather use them to make sure he gets out. I don't want to have to watch him die."

The crowd is sobbing now, hardly able to believe it. It was different with Katniss and Peeta, they were from the same District. Now, there was absolutely no way that we could both come out.

"I'm sure he'd be willing to do the same for you," Caesar says.

"He would," I reply. "But I have no one left but him. If I lost him I'd lose my mind. He has so much more to give. It's like the others have said— the Capitol will be in pain losing us. And especially him. They simply can't lose him— it'd kill them. They don't know it yet but it would. He needs to make it out. I'm disposable. He's not."

My words have an instantaneous effect. No one wants to lose me, or lose Finnick, and especially not lose the chance to see us together.

The buzzer sounds and I walk back up. I feel like throwing up again but I ignore the sensation. I can't let it happen.

Later Seeder from Eleven goes up, quietly ruminating about how, back in her District, everyone assumes President Snow is all powerful. So if he is all powerful, why doesn't he change the Quell? And Chaff, who comes right on her heels, insists the president could change the Quell if he wanted to, but he must not think it matters much to anyone.

By the time Katniss is introduced, the audience is an absolute wreck. People have been weeping and collapsing and even calling for change. The side of her in her white silk bridal get on practically causes a riot.

I don't pay much attention to the interview. I'm more focused on how my arms are wrapped around myself, draped protectively over my belly, where the tiny product of Finnick and I's drunken endeavors is starting to grow.

It could be a little Finnick or a little me...

Caesar asks Katniss to twirl and she does.

That's when her dress catches on fire. I'm startled for a minute that she might burn. But when she stops, she's fine, and is now in a coal colored dress with tiny feathers. She lifts her arms and wings sprout out with white patches.

There is a collective gasp from the tributes all around me.

Cinna has turned her into a mockingjay.

Plutarch and Haymitch must be internally flipping their shit right now.

"Feathers," Caesar muses softly. "You're like a bird."

"A mockingjay, I think," she says, giving her wings a small flap. "It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token."

But it's not just that anymore. It's the symbol of the uprising.

Props are given to Cinna, who acknowledges his work with a bow. I can't help but be afraid of what they will do to him.

Peeta's interview is even more shocking. He reveals that he and Katniss are already married.

Haymitch is at it again.

"But... how can that be?" Caesar asks.

"Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don't know what it's like in the other districts. But there's this thing we do," says Peeta, and he briefly describes a toasting.

"Were your families there?" asks Caesar.

"No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss's mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day we just did it," Peeta says. "And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us."

"So this was before the Quell?" Caesar asks.

"Of course. I'm sure we would never have done it after we knew about the Quell," Peeta says, starting to get upset. "But who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were Victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere— I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?"

"You couldn't, Peeta." Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. "As you say, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

The crowd claps enthusiastically.

"I'm not glad," Peeta says. "I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially."

This takes Caesar aback. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?"

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby."

I almost faint. Blight has to grip my arm as I sway, my mouth open in shock.

Peeta's done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out whatever we said before him. It's what he did last year, and it's worked for him again this year.

As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can't ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the idea of a pregnant woman going in to fight.

The only problem is, I don't think Katniss is actually pregnant. She looks as shocked as everyone.

But even if she isn't pregnant, I am...

Caesar can hardly reign in the crowd as they moan and shriek. Even when the buzzer sounds, the crowd can't calm down. Peeta nods his good-bye and goes back to stand beside Katniss.

Suddenly a ripple effect occurs. I watch Katniss take Chaff's hand— or the stump where his hand should be. On instinct I take Blight's.

That's when it happens. Up and down the row, the victors begin to join hands. Some right away, like the morphlings, or Wiress and Beetee. Others unsure but caught up in the demands of those around them, like Brutus and Enobaria. By the time the anthem plays its final strains, all twenty four of us stand in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity among the Districts since the Dark Days. You can see the realization of this as the screens begin to pop into blackness. It's too late, though. In the confusion they didn't cut us off in time. Everyone has seen.

Blight leads me away quickly after that. Finnick runs up to me, looking concerned.

"Morgan you're not okay," he says. "What— what's the matter? Is it what I said? I'm sorry, I just—"

I begin to cry again, and he pulls me into his strong arms. Hugging him is comforting, but it doesn't alleviate the distress I feel.

I pull away, swallowing hard as I wipe my eyes.

"Morgan, you can tell me," Finnick whispers as he cups my face in his hands.

I look into his eyes and take a deep breath.

"Finnick," I say. "I—"

I choke on my own words.

"It's okay... I'm not going to judge or say anything bad," he promises.

"Finnick," I say again, my lip trembling. "I—I—"

I look down. I can't look him in the eyes. Not those gorgeous sea green eyes that our child could be forming right now.

"I'm pregnant."


	24. Chapter 24

"I'm pregnant."

The word must have hit Finnick like a missile because when I look up he's white with shock. I don't think I've ever seen so many emotions on his face at once. He looks terrified, for one. Some part of me thinks maybe there's happiness in there? But there is definitely a part that's angry.

"Are you joking?" He manages. I swear it's like his face is about to melt off. "Are you— are you joking?"

"She's not," Blight says before I can answer.

Finnick's eyes widen even more, if that's possible.

"You're..." He stammers. "With my..."

"Yes," I say, my hands on instinct crossing over my belly. "And if you're not happy about it then—"

"No!" He cries. "No— that's not what I— I just— I never thought..."

His jaw locks and I can tell he's full on angry now. "No. They can't possibly let you compete."

"Finnick—"

"No! You and Katniss shouldn't compete!"

"You know they won't let—"

"To hell with that!" He spits, and for a second I flinch. He's actually furious. "You can't go into that arena carrying our child."

I put a cautious hand on his arm. For someone who's killed so many people, I sure as hell am afraid of him. "Finnick, we can't change it."

"You could die. You and our baby and— no. I can't lose you. Either of you. You— you matter way too much to me. I don't think I could bear it at all if you died. It'd kill me Morgan— I wouldn't be able to survive in a world you weren't in. But to lose our baby too— no. It's not going to fucking happen, I'm not going to let it."

What he says hits me hard.

He genuinely doesn't want to lose me, and it's the most touching thing in the midst of all this.

I bite my lip and lead him to the elevator. "Finnick we have to go in tomorrow and just—"

"We're going to talk about this," he says. He's fuming as the elevator goes up. Blight gets off on our floor but Finnick holds my hand desperately, like he's afraid to let me go.

We get off on the roof and as soon as the doors close, Finnick pulls me into his arms, and I swear I hear him sob.

"Finnick," I say softly, rubbing his back. "I-It's okay—"

"How long have you known?" He whispers.

"I just found out today when I went to the doctor. I had no idea..."

"You went to the doctor? You— you said you were going to get tea..."

"I-I didn't want you to come because I didn't want you to worry."

"Morgan I should have been there for you, to find out when you did! What— how did you react?"

"I admit I cried a lot..."

He lets out another stifled sob, and I realize he is now actually crying.

He pulls away to hold my face in his hands.

When he kisses me, I'm caught off guard. It gets even more confusing when he doesn't pull away for awhile.

I don't pull away either. I feel his distress through the kiss, and I share it.

It feels amazing. We kiss like we might never be able to again after this.

When he does pull away, he brushes some hair away from my face.

"I know I hurt you," he says quietly. "And I know to some extent, you haven't forgiven me, and I understand that. Maybe you don't want this to continue after our obligation is over and as much as it would hurt me... I wouldn't hold it against you. But Morgan... I care a lot. About you. And now you're carrying a child. OUR child. I'm not for one second leaving you alone in there. I am going to stick with you until the very very end because I will die if something happens to you. I can't let that happen."

He takes a deep breath and looks down. "Tomorrow, as soon as you get properly on your plate— look for me. Be careful not to step off too early. I'll find you. Kill anyone who gets in your way— PLEASE. If anyone tries to hurt you— I'll rip them apart with my bare hands— I don't care. But you are not leaving my sight. At all."

I feel the need to cry again. I don't know how to tell him that these past days I've been able to see him and the entire world in a whole new light. I don't know how to communicate to him how much he means to me and how much more I care about him now than I ever thought I would.

"If I have to die to make sure you and our baby get out alive, so be it," he says. "That's all that matters to me."

"Finnick I have forgiven you," I say, gulping. His eyes widen. "I mean it. I forgive you. We... w-we'll all be fine... we will be... we'll help Katniss and P-Peeta... we'll all get out..."

"But they're not our priority anymore, okay?" Finnick says, caressing my cheek, then kissing my lips very softly. "We help them, yes, but we worry more about keeping this baby alive. Understand?"

I nod, swallowing back the tears attempting to flood out.

Finnick pulls me into his arms again. He breathes a sigh of relief, like he's done his part and now it's up to me to do mine. But I know he's really just relieved that we're in this together.

"I'm not angry at you," he says. "I never was. This.. is unexpected, and very inconvenient... but we're going to do everything to make it work. It's not just because of the baby. But because of you, and us. I'm not abandoning you for any reason, okay?"

I nod, leaning further into his chest.

That night he walks me back to my apartment. He gives me a kiss on the top of my head before he leaves, which I know he has to do.

When I walk in, Johanna and Blight look worried.

"Are you okay?" Blight asks.

I shake my head. "Not at all. But I will be."

I say nothing more before going into my bedroom.

I hardly sleep that night. Soon I'm being woken up and taken to the hovercraft, where the electric current freezes me in place on the ladder until the doctor injects the tracker in my left forearm.

Now they will always be able to locate me in the arena.

The hovercraft takes off, and I look out the windows until they black out. Griz keeps pressing me to eat and, when that fails, to drink. I manage to keep sipping water.

"You need to find food as much as possible," he says. "You are eating for two now. You can't let yourself get even slightly dehydrated."

I nod solemnly. I know that.

When we reach the Launch Room at the arena, I am finally able to shower. Griz then pins stray strands of my hair up next to my ears and helps me dress over simple undergarments. This year's tribute outfit is a fitted blue jumpsuit, made of very sheer material, that zips up the front. A six inch white padded belt covered in shiny purple plastic. A pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles.

"This is an awful suit," he says. "It will offer little in the way of protection from cold or water. So you make sure to keep yourself protected. Your baby's pretty safe in there, but always remember you have more sensitivity now. You get injured, you do not let yourself lose blood. You get cold or hot, you alleviate it immediately, okay?"

"Got it," I say.

We sit, as we did two years ago, with me leaning on him until the voice tells me to prepare for the launch.

He walks me over to the circular metal plate and zips up the neck of my jumpsuit securely. "Go out there and make us proud," he says, giving me a kiss on my forehead. "Come back to us with that baby. I call dibs on being the godfather."

I smile, but it's filled with sadness. If Haymitch's plan works, I will likely never see Griz again.

After a while, the plate begins to rise. I lean against the glass, standing still. A sudden breeze catches my hair and I force myself to straighten up. Just in time, too, because the glass is retreating and I'm standing free in the arena. Something seems to be wrong with my vision. The ground is too bright and shiny and keeps undulating. I squint down at my feet and see that my metal plate is surrounded by blue waves that laptop over my boots. Slowly I raise my eyes and take in the water spreading out in every direction.

Crap.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, hammers in my ears. I have a minute to figure out what the hell I'm going to do.

I see blue water. A pink sky. White hot sun beating down on me. There's the Cornucopia, the shiny gold medal horn, about forty yards away from me.

At first, it appears to be sitting on a circular island. But on closer examination, I see the thin strips of land radiating from the circle like the spokes on a wheel. I think there are ten to twelve, and they seem equidistant from one another. Between the spokes all his water. Water and a pair of tributes. That's it, then. There are 12 spokes, each with two tributes balanced on metal plates between them.

The other tribute in my watery wedge is one of the morphlings, who's staring blankly ahead. She's about as far to my right as the land strip on my left. Beyond the water, wherever you look, a narrow beach and then dense greenery. I scan the circle of tribute, looking for Finnick. But he must be blocked from my view by the Cornucopia.

As I squint I can see Katniss off to my far right. She catches a handful of water and smells it, but I don't need to. I can tell its saltwater.

There are no boats, no ropes, not even a bit of driftwood to cling to. No, there's only one way to get to the Cornucopia.

This makes me think about the plan. A resource in the center. This water must have some sort of life in it, and I'm almost terrified something gigantic will appear and kill us. But if all goes smoothly with the electric tree... the water should have sensors to blow everything up sky high and break the force field.

When the gong sounds, I dive right into the water, propelling my body forward. I'm not the best swimmer but I know I can move faster in the water than on the land.

Luckily, the waves carry me, and my legs are strong enough to kick me forward. I eventually pull myself, dripping, onto the land strip and sprint down the sandy stretch for the Cornucopia.

I can see no one else converging from my side, except maybe Katniss from the distance, though I can't quite tell if it's her. The gold horn blocks a good portion of my view. I don't let the thought of adversaries slow me down. I know the first thing I need to do is get my hands on a weapon, like I did two years ago.

The weapons all seem to be piled at a twenty foot high mountain. I scramble forward, and struggle to climb up. When someone grabs me from behind I almost scream, except I doubt an enemy would be boosting me up onto the ledge I was trying to reach.

"Miss me, love?" Finnick asks, glistening and gorgeous as always. A net dangles from one hand, a trident firm in the other.

"I did," I say, bolting to where I see a belt of knives. I strap it to myself and then grab a similar belt with axes, putting it below my knife waistband.

"You can swim too," I hear Finnick tell someone. "Where did you learn that in District Twelve?"

I turn and see Katniss has her bow ready, and she looks uncertain of Finnick. "We have a big bathtub," she says.

"You must," Finnick tells her. "You like the arena?"

"Not particularly. But you should. They must have built it especially for you," she says, sounding bitter.

"Woah," I say, coming closer to the ledge. "Katniss— Finnick's with me. We're all allies."

Clearly she expected me after all our hang outs, but she looks stunned about Finnick.

She tenses, like she's thinking we might be tricking her.

"Hey," Finnick says, shifting his wrist to show off a solid gold bangle patterned with flames— something I heard Haymitch gave him to prove he was with us awhile back. "I'm sticking with Morgan and the kid."

Katniss seems to think he means her fake (or real, I don't know) baby. "Right," she says.

There are footsteps. "Duck!" I cry to Katniss.

My axe curves in midair and sails over her head, making a horrible noise as it finds its target. The man from District Five, the drunk who I believe threw up on the sword fighting floor, sinks to his knees. Finnick jumps forward and yanks out my axe before tossing it back to me.

I help them both onto the ledge and look around.

"Two o'clock, One and Two," I call.

Enobaria and Gloss are just reaching the land. I growl, wanting more than anything to put my axe in both of their faces now, but I know better. They're both good at dodging, and it'd be a waste of my weapons. I need to bide my time with them, unless they threaten me directly.

"Anything useful?" Finnick shouts to Katniss. They both must be looking for something that's not a weapon.

"Weapons!" Katniss calls back. "Nothing but weapons!"

"Same here," he confirms. "Grab what you want and let's go."

Katniss nods and shoots an arrow at Enobaria, but as I suspected, the fang toothed woman dives back into the water to avoid the hit.

Gloss is distracted. My anger rises and in an instant I've thrown my first knife and nailed him deep in the thigh. He cries out in pain, and I smirk.

Finnick, Katniss, and I meet at the front of the pile. Brutus is barreling toward us. His belt is undone and he has it stretched between his hands as a kind of shield. Katniss shoots at him and he manages to block her arrow with his belt before it can skewer his liver. Where it punctures the belt, a purple liquid spews forth, coating his face. As she reloads, Brutus flattens on the ground, rolls a few feet to the water, and submerges.

Katniss suddenly bolts to where I can see Peeta in the distance. Enobaria and Gloss are at the Cornucopia now, and I'd be willing to take them alongside Finnick, but I know our priority is not them— it's Katniss, Peeta, and our baby, who is probably really tiny and comfortable at the moment.

Finnick and I follow Katniss without question. Ahead of us, she prepares herself, as if she's going to swim to Peeta.

"I'll get him," Finnick says.

Katniss looks suspicious. "Just trust him!" I hiss, since she seems hesitant.

"Yes, and neither of you can exert yourselves, so let me," Finnick says, dropping his weapons and diving flawlessly into the water.

"What did he mean by neither of us can exert ourselves?" Katniss asks as she prepares an arrow and I an axe.

I smile sheepishly. "I'm pregnant too." I put an emphasis on 'too.' She seems to have forgotten.

She nods in understanding, but I can tell she's in shock.

The Careers have decided we're not interesting enough to pursue, which is good. Gloss, Cashmere, Enobaria, and Brutus have gathered, their pack formed already, picking over the weapons. A quick survey of the rest of the arena shows that most of the tributes are still trapped on their plates. Mags is splashing toward us from her spoke.

Finnick has reached Peeta by now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. When they reach the sand, Katniss hails Peeta out.

They embrace, and I take the chance to pull Finnick out.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, shaking his head so water sprays over me. I giggle slightly. "I'm okay," I say, handing him back his trident and his net. He kisses me, then looks to where Mags is approaching.

"We can't leave Mags behind," Finnick says. "She's one of the few people who actually like me."

"I've got no problem with Mags," Katniss says. "Especially now that I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal."

"Katniss wanted her on the first day," says Peeta.

"Katniss has remarkably good judgement," Finnick replies, reaching into the water and scooping out Mags like she weighs no more than a puppy. She makes some remark that I think includes the word "bob," then pats her belt.

"Look, she's right. Someone figured it out." Finnick points to Beetee. He's flailing around in the waves but managing to keep his head above water.

"What?" Katniss says.

"The belts. They're flotation devices," Finnick notes. "I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they'll keep you from drowning."

Katniss nods. "Let's move on." She hands Peeta a bow, a sheath of arrows, and a knife.

Mags tugs on her sleeve and babbles until she gives her the awl. Pleased, she clamps the handle between her gums and reaches her arms up to Finnick. He tosses his net over his shoulder, hoists Mags on top of it, grips his tridents in his free hand, and we run from the Cornucopia.

"WAIT!" I cry suddenly, stopping in my tracks. "Where's Blight?"

I look around, absolutely terrified. In all the frenzy, I forgot Blight. We had never planned to meet anywhere, since he wasn't at training, but he should be here.

"Morgan keep moving," Finnick says, looking back at me. "We can't go back now."

"But Finnick— we need Blight— we NEED him!"

"Morgan we can't go back!"

"Finnick—"

"Keep going!"

I feel myself tear up as I start to run again. How stupid could I be to forget one of my family members, the man who trained me, and who may have been angry at me, but who was still coming in here with me?

Finnick does not leave my side. He keeps up with me, even though I know he can probably go faster. He's really not letting me out of his sight, and especially not now that he saw how distressed I was at realizing Blight was left behind.

"He'll be okay, Morgan," Finnick pants to me as we run.

"How can you be sure?" I say, biting my lip.

"He trained you, and you're a survivor. Come on."

He takes my hand and we continue to run.

When the sand ends, woods begin to rise sharply. No, not really woods. Jungle. The foreign, almost obsolete word comes to mind. Most of the trees are unfamiliar to me, with smooth trunks and few branches. The earth is very black and spongy underfoot, often obscured by tangles of vines with colorful blossoms. Well the sun is hot and bright, the air is warm and heavy with moisture, and I get the feeling I will never really be dry here. The thin blue fabric of my jumpsuit lets the sea water evaporate easily, but it's already begun to cling to me with sweat.

Peeta takes the lead, cutting through the patches of dense vegetation with his long knife. Finnick and I go next. I keep knives in my hand at all times, turning them around and flicking them as if to throw them, though I never do. Katniss lingers in the back, her arrows prepped to shoot.

It doesn't take long, between the steep incline and the heat, to become short of breath. However, none of us falter. We climb rapidly for about a mile before Finnick requests a rest. I think it's more for Mags's sake than his own.

The foliage has hidden the wheel from site, so Katniss scales a tree with rubbery limbs to get a better view.

When she comes back down, Finnick stands, his trident held in a defensive position.

I can tell he knows Katniss doesn't trust him.

"What's going on down there, Katniss?" He asks. "Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons into the sea in defiance of the Capitol?"

"No," she says.

"No," Finnick repeats. "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a Victor by chance. Except maybe Peeta."

I agree. I didn't hesitate to kill the man from Five. In my Games, I mercilessly murdered fourteen people when I didn't have to. Peeta might've tried negotiating first. The people in this arena were not crowned for their compassion.

Katniss and Finnick are staring at each other like they're considering killing the other.

"Hey," I say, stepping between them. "You guys— you have to trust each other. Finnick isn't going to hurt you, Katniss."

I can tell she's desperate to know why I brought him along.

"Morgan, love, don't get in front of her," Finnick says. I feel him pick me up and gently move me aside.

Peeta takes my place, staring at Katniss. "So how many are dead?"

I can tell he also wants to alleviate the tension.

"Hard to say," Katniss answers. "At least six, I think. And they're still fighting."

"Let's keep moving," Peeta suggests. "We need water."

"Yes," Finnick agrees. "We can't let Katniss and Morgan get dehydrated even slightly."

"It's true, then?" Katniss asks.

"What's true?" Peeta inquires.

"Morgan is pregnant."

I nod. "I found out yesterday."

Peeta seems to grow pale. That's how I know that he and Katniss are definitely not expecting. He looks genuinely afraid for me.

He plays it off expertly. "So two pregnant tributes. We definitely need to keep you two healthy."

"Let's find it soon," Finnick says. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight."

The absence of water intensifies my thirst. I find myself subconsciously rubbing my belly, and I can see out of the corner of my eye that Finnick is observing my actions intently. I keep a sharp eye out as we continue our trek upward, but with no luck.

After about another mile, I can see an end to the tree line and assume we're reaching the crest of the hill. "Maybe we'll have better luck on the other side," Katniss says. "Find a spring or something."

But there is no other side. There is a strange glare, either from the sun or the heat shimmering up off the ground. I squint and my eyes fixate on a rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. Slowly it begins to dawn on me that what I'm staring at is a force field, like the one Beetee, Wiress, Katniss, and I were observing in the Training Center.

My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta's knife swings out to slash away some vines.

There is a sharp zapping sound. For an instant, the trees are gone and I see open space over a short stretch of bare earth.

Then Peeta's flung back from the force field, knocking me down and making me cry out in pain we I shield my stomach before anything else.

Finnick throws Peeta off of me, and examines him. There's a faint smell of singed hair as Katniss screams and runs forward. She calls his name and shakes him, but he's unresponsive.

I shove them both away and press my ear against his chest.

"No," I say softly, my eyes wide.

I don't hear the strong and steady beat his heart should have.

I hear only silence.


	25. Chapter 25

Katniss is screaming hysterically. All I can hear now is her piercing screams. The terror, the horror, the anguish, the desperation are so prevalent that it almost makes me cry. I have to yank her off of Peeta because she's shaking him like a madwoman, and it's not helping at all.

"PEETA!" She screams. "PEETA!"

I have to pin her to a nearby tree to stop her from lunging at Finnick as he begins to perform CPR. Katniss is white with shock, though her eyes radiate fury and confusion. I can tell she wants someone to pay for what has happened to Peeta.

Finnick works quickly and precisely, attempting to get Peeta breathing again.

"What is he doing?" She chokes. "What is he—"

"He's doing CPR," I say as calmly as I can. "He's trying to restart his heart, Katniss. Calm down... calm down..." I turn my head back to watch Finnick.

I can't help but stare in admiration. Seeing how much he cares about this kid he hardly knows. How seriously he takes the obligations we have. How he puts everything aside and trusts his skill to save his life.

Finnick Odair is majestic.

Finally Peeta gives a little cough and Katniss shoves me aside to run to him, which is a but of a nasty shock for me considering how distracted I am watching Finnick. I trip, and have to grab a tree to hold myself upright.

Finnick wipes his mouth and comes to stand next to me. "Hope you're not jealous I kissed Peeta."

I shake my head, smiling. "You're amazing."

I notice he blushes. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," I say. "I can't do that. Katniss clearly can't. You have a talent."

He laughs wryly. "A talent?"

"For saving people. Being amazing. Take your pick."

"I sure hope so. Don't want our kid having a complete loser for a dad."

That's what makes my smile fade. The idea that in nine months I'll be raising a child with Finnick Odair.

Not that I'm opposed to it. Not really, anyway. But it's just something that makes me think that the same way I watched my parents raise me, this child will watch Finnick and I raise them soon enough, if we survive.

"I'm just saying," he adds quickly. "I mean, we'll both be good parents—"

"I get it," I say. "Don't worry."

My smile returns and he relaxes.

Katniss meanwhile is still sobbing, looking completely distraught.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks uncertainly, patting her back.

"It's just her hormones," I say casually. "The baby's got her extra emotional."

"Wait," Finnick says, looking at me. "Does that mean you're going to get like that?"

"Most likely," I admit. "What, you're expecting me to break down crying? Seems the only thing I have now is morning sickness."

Finnick looks concerned but says nothing. He looks at Peeta. "How are you? Do you think you can move on?"

"No, he has to rest," Katniss sniffles. Mags rips off a handful of hanging moss and gives it to her to blow her nose.

"So you want to make camp here, then?" Finnick inquires.

"That's not a good idea," I murmur. "We have no water and no protection. Peeta, dude, if you can even slightly move, we should go."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly."

"Atta kid," Finnick says, helping him up. "Slowly is better than not at all."

"I'll take the lead," I offer.

"Me too," Katniss says.

Finnick nods. "Yeah, I agree. You... you both noticed the force field was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning. I heard you. How did you know?"

Katniss falters. Crap. We can't reveal Beetee and Wiress's trick at recognizing the force field.

Naturally I come up with a lie. "We can hear it. It buzzes at a frequency that few people can hear."

This seems to give Katniss confidence. "I can really only hear it from my left ear, but yes."

"The one the doctors reconstructed?" Peeta asks.

"Yes," Katniss says. "Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn't ordinarily think have a sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground."

She's smart, pinning it on the surgeon.

"Do you have reconstructed ears, Morgan?" Peeta asks.

"Nah I was just a special kid," I say. "Had migraines a lot as a kid— always had tinnitus too."

That's not a lie at all. If Snow were to check my medical records from when I was around five, he'd see it was true. That doesn't mean I can hear different frequencies, but I pretend it does.

"Now I'm starting to think it wasn't tinnitus," I say. "Rather, perhaps, just me hearing things others couldn't."

"Well, by all means, take the lead," Finnick says, patting my back.

Since we're to be moving slowly, Mags prefers to walk with the aid of a branch Finnick quickly fashions into a cane for her. He makes a staff for Peeta as well, which is good because, despite his protestations, I can tell all Peeta wants to do is lie down. Finnick brings up the rear, so at least someone alert has our backs.

Katniss walks with the force field to her left, because I guess that's supposed to be the side with her super human ear.

But since all that's made up, I cut down a bunch of hard nuts that hang like grapes from a nearby tree and toss them ahead of me as I go. She watches what I do, and imitates. It's good that I do it, too, because I have a feeling we're missing the patches that indicate a force field more often then we're spotting them. Wherever a nut hits the force field, there's a puff of smoke before the nut lands, blackened and with a cracked shell, on the ground at our feet.

After a few minutes I become aware of a smacking sound behind me and turn to see Mags peeling the shell off one of the nuts and popping it in her already full mouth.

"Mags!" Katniss cries. "Spit that out. It could be poisonous."

She mumbles something and ignores her, licking her lips with apparent relish. Finnick simply shrugs. He probably knows he can't stop her.

An hour seems to pass and it all becomes apparently futile. We aren't finding water and certainly aren't making progress to the left. In fact, the force field seems to be herding is along a curved path.

Like a dome, I think.

"Let's take a break," Katniss says. "I need to get another look from above."

I move to stand next to Finnick, who puts an arm around me and kisses my forehead. "How you doing, mama bear?"

"Mama bear? Can't I be mama leopard or something?"

"Okay dummy you can be mama pine tree if that's how it's going to be."

I giggle. "Finnick you're the dummy."

"No you."

"You."

"You."

I heard branches snap and realize Katniss is climbing back down.

"The force field has us trapped in a circle," Katniss says as she jumps to land in front of us. "A dome, really."

So I was right.

"I don't know how high it goes," she continues. "There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. Not very large."

"Did you see any water?" I ask hopefully, feeling already very sick.

"Only the saltwater where we started the Games," Katniss says solemnly.

"I need water," I murmur. "We all need water. I can already feel this little baby begging me to drink it."

Finnick looks concerned. "Maybe... maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere."

"There must be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel," Peeta insists. I wince. We all know what this means. Heading back down. Heading back to the Careers and the bloodshed. With Mags hardly able to walk and Peeta too weak to fight.

A clock, a clock. I'm trying to think of what Plutarch said with twelve spaces, twelve unconfirmed horrors. What if this entire time the horror has been no water, or something?

I don't know and it's killing me.

We decide to move down the slope a few hundred yards and continue circling. See if maybe there's some water at that level. Katniss and I stay in the lead, occasionally chucking a nut to our left. But we're well out of range of the force field now. The sun beats down on us, turning the air to steam, playing tricks on our eyes. By mid-afternoon, it's clear Peeta and Mags can't go on.

Finnick chooses a campsite about ten yards below the force field, saying we can use it as a weapon by deflecting our enemies into it if attacked. I love how smart he is about this, and how his rebellious nature is so out there. It's super attractive.

Then he and Mags pull blades of the sharp grass that grows in five foot high tufts and begin to weave them together into mats. Since Mags seems to have no ill effects from the nuts, Peeta collects branches of them and fries them by bouncing them off the force field. He methodically peels off the shells, piling the meats on a leaf. Katniss stands off to the side, fidgeting.

I sit and scoot closer to Finnick, observing his skilled hands as he weaves a particularly fluffy mat.

"This one's yours," he says, shaking it. "You need to be more comfortable. We'll use the other mats to make a hut but you'll sleep on this."

"You don't have to give me special treatment," I say quietly.

"You're the mother of my child, why wouldn't I?"

I blush, and take some blades to weave a mat as well, doing my best to help. Turns out I'm not too bad at it.

Finally Katniss stomps on the ground. "Finnick, Morgan, why don't you stand guard and I'll hunt around some more for water."

"Alone?" I say. "But Katniss—"

"Don't worry, I won't go far," she promises.

"I'll go too," Peeta offers.

"No, I'm going to do some hunting if I can. I won't be long."

Peeta sighs as she leaves, and I go back to weaving the mat I started.

When the mats are complete, Finnick sets mine aside. He has us make a hut with the other mats— with three walls, a floor, and a roof.

He sets my mat comfortably against a corner.

"We can both fit on it if we really try," I say, trying to urge him to share. I'd feel awful if I'm the only one with a proper bed.

He smirks and I slap his arm. "Just— for normal sleeping— good Christ."

"I didn't say anything!" He protests.

"You made a look, you know it!"

"Nooo."

"You're not innocent, Finnick."

"I could never be innocent at this rate, Morgan. Gosh, catch up with the program."

"You're so childish, dummy."

"Okay, mama pine tree."

By the time Katniss has returned, Mags has plaited several bowls that Peeta has filled with roasted nuts. We turn to her hopefully.

"No, no water," she says. "It's out there, though. He knew where it was." She hoists up a skinny rodent. "He'd been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn't find his source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty yard radius."

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully, staring at the rodent. "I have a feeling about it... but I'm not sure."

"Can we eat him?" Peeta asks.

"I don't know for sure," Katniss says. "But his meat doesn't look that different from a squirrel's. He ought to be cooked..."

"We can't risk a fire," Finnick says immediately. "We could be spotted and that'd be a very stupid way to die."

Luckily Peeta has an idea. He takes a cube of rodent meat, skewers it on the tip of a pointed stick, and lets it fall into the force field. There's a sharp sizzle and the stick flies back. The chunk of meat is blackened on the outside but well cooked inside. We give him a round of applause, then quickly stop, remembering where we are.

"To Peeta, the chef!" I say as we stand roasting chunks of rat meat.

The white sun sinks in the rosy sky as we gather in the hut. We enjoy the rodent, which is gamey but juicy, and the nuts, who have a sweet flavor.

Finnick asks a lot of questions about the rodent, which we decide to call a tree rat. How high was it, how long did Katniss watch it before she shot, and what was it doing? I sense he's trying to get her to think about anything other than the Games. I appreciate this, because he's so kind and tailoring to our fears.

After a short time a pale while moon rises, and the seal of the Capitol appears as if floating in space.

I lean into Finnick's arms, and he rests his head on my shoulder.

"I'm scared," I whisper, my eyes wide as I stare up.

"It's going to be fine," Finnick whispers. "Blight's face won't be up there. He's okay."

I decide to just nod and tryst him.

The first face is the man from Five that I killed. I feel no remorse, because he isn't important.

Then the male morphling from Six. I frown, and squeeze Finnick's hand. That's one member down.

Cecelia and Woof from Eight appear, and I squeeze Finnick's hand again, breathing heavily. Another two, essentially down.

Both from Nine. The woman from Ten. And Seeder from Eleven. When I see Seeder's face I slump back weakly into Finnick's arms. The Capitol seal is soon back with a final bit of music and then the sky goes dark except for the moon.

We say nothing. Finnick's hands are shaking slightly as he moves them to caress my stomach. I can't see his face but I know he's staring intently at it.

He traces his hands across it, like he's wondering what it'll look like expanded to fit our baby inside.

Shortly after, I see a silver parachute coming down. It glides through the foliage before landing in front of us. No one reaches for it.

"Whose is it, do you think?" Katniss says at last.

"No telling," says Finnick. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?"

Peeta unties the cord and flattens out the circle of silk. On the parachute sits a small metal object.

"What is it?" Katniss asks.

We pass it around, examining it. It's a hollow metal tube, tapered slightly at one end.

"Oh," I say when it comes to me. "I'm pretty sure it's a spile."

"What?" Finnick asks.

"A spile," I say. "Sort of like a faucet. We use them a lot in my district. You put it in a tree and sap comes out. Well, the right sort of tree."

"Sap?" Finnick asks. They must not have those by the sea.

"To make syrup," Peeta says. "But there must be something else inside these trees."

I bolt up. "Water!" I cry. "Water— the rat must have been drinking right from the tree!"

"We need to drill a hole first," Katniss says.

Mags offers her awl and Peeta drives it straight into the bark, burying the spike two inches deep. He and Finnick take turns opening up the hole with the awl and the knives until it can hold the spile. I wedge it in carefully and we all stand back in anticipation.

At first nothing happens. Then a drop of water rolls down the lip and lands on Mags's palm. She licks it off and holds out her hand for more.

I wiggle and adjust it, which helps us get a thin stream running out. Finnick insists I go first, then Katniss. We take many turns holding our mouths under the tap, wetting our parched tongues. Mags brings over a basket, and the grass is so tightly woven it holds water. We fill the basket and pass it around, taking deep gulps and, later, luxuriously, splashing our faces clean. Like everything here, the water's on the wam side, but this is no time to be picky.

Without our thirst to distract us, we're all aware of how exhausted we are and make preparations for the night. I preserve the spile in my knife belt where I've got an open space from the knife I'm holding.

Finnick offers to take first watch. I insist I can stay up with him but he refuses. I lay beside him on the mat he made me, curled up so my head is partially on his lap. He strokes my hair, humming softly, and I doze off.

But then I am awoken a few hours later by what seems to be the tolling of a bell. Loud. It's not like the one they ring in the Justice Building on New Year's but similar. Peeta and Mags sleep through it, but Katniss and I awake.

Suddenly the tolling stops.

"I counted twelve," he says quietly.

"Twelve," I murmur, still only half awake. "Does that mean anything?" I ask as if it don't know anything. Twelve. The clock.

"No idea," Katniss says.

We sit quietly, waiting for further instructions. Maybe a message from Claudius Templesmith. An invitation to a feast. The only thing of note appears in the distance. A dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree and then a lightning storm begins. I guess it's an indication of rain, of a water source for those who don't have mentors as smart as Johanna and Haymitch, who must have teamed up.

The electric tree. Finnick looks at me and we share an understanding of what it's about.

"Go to sleep, you two," Katniss says. "It's my turn to watch, anyway."

Finnick hesitates but then lays beside me, pulling me into his chest, which is quite comfortable. He keeps one hand around his trident, which he places on the other side of me. I scoot enough so that we do both fit on the mat, and I nuzzle into him so we're practically morphed into one person.

It feels I'm only asleep for moments when I hear Katniss screaming for us to run.

Finnick snaps awake beside me. I sit up, and my eyes widen seeing a wall of fog coming our way. He tosses a still sleeping Mags onto his back and takes off. I bolt after him, not necessarily caring for Katniss and Peeta at the moment.

But as I turn back to look over my shoulder, despite the droplets of fog that are burning my skin, I see Katniss and Peeta are having problems.

"Finnick!" I scream.

He stops, and shouts for them to move on, but he's desperate to keep moving— I can see he doesn't necessarily want to wait for them.

"Keep running, Morgan!" He shouts at me.

But I don't. Because I can see Peeta's artificial leg has caught on a knot of creepers and he sprawls on the floor.

I don't hesitate to sprint back to them. But just as I grasp Peeta's arm to pull him up, the fog wraps around me.

I scream as it targets my very nerves. My whole body feels like its on fire. Katniss and I struggle to pull Peeta up. His leg seems to be like a puppet's—moving in a spastic fashion.

Finnick runs back to us and picks up Peeta, throwing him on his back. "I'll have to carry him— one of you take Mags!"

Katniss offers and Finnick begins to run. Mags climbs onto Katniss's back and we bolt away. I'm crying, thought I can hardly even tell myself, because my skin is just so sensitive.

The fog moved silent and steady and flat, grasping tendrils. Finnick is moving in a diagonal down the hill, keeping a distance from the gas while steering us toward the water that surrounds the Cornucopia.

I'm ahead of Katniss as we run, but I can hear her panting and tripping. I whirl around as she crashes to the ground. She can't get back up.

Ignoring the pain I feel and how my arms are twitching, I yank Katniss and Mags up then throw Mags on my back. "Keep running!" I scream to Katniss.

Finnick whips around and seeing us, his eyes widen in fear. "Morgan— MORGAN!"

In the time it takes me to get Katniss up and get Mags on my back, the fog has drawn much, much closer. I'm panting, and struggling to run. Katniss is clearly about to collapse again.

Finnick runs back to us, his arms jerking uncontrollably. "Katniss— Morgan— come on—"

I'm trying to run, but Katniss is hanging onto me desperately.

"Can you carry her and Peeta?" I gasp to Finnick as I struggle to pull both Katniss and Mags along.

His green eyes are shiny with tears. "No, I can't— Katniss, I'm sorry—"

What happens next is so fast, so senseless, I can't stop it. Mags hauls herself off my back, plants a kiss on Finnick's lips, and the hobbles straight into the fog. Immediately her body is seized by wild contortions and she falls to the ground in a horrible dance.

I scream, but it hurts. I take one step to her, but then I hear the cannon blast. Her heart has stopped.

Finnick's eyes are glossy, and he starts to run. Katniss's eyes are wide in shock. Cursing loudly, I throw her on my back, even though she weighs more than me, and run as fast as I possibly can behind Finnick.

Time and space lose all meaning as I feel the fog invading my brain. All that I can think is that my stomach burns horribly, and I'm wondering if the baby inside me is still safe.

I follow Finnick, watching the moonlight glint on his bronze hair, up until he collapses, Peeta still on top of him.

I trip over, Katniss and I sprawling over them. Finnick moans in pain, his twitching arm spasming as it reaches toward me, caressing my face.

I whimper, looking at him. His eyes are closed. He can't even see me and he's looking for me.

I force myself to look back at the fog. It seems to have taken on a pearly white quality. Maybe it's my eyes playing tricks, or the moonlight, but the fog seems to be transforming. Yes, it's becoming thicker, as if it has pressed up against a glass window and is being forced to condense. I squint and realize it has stopped moving entirely— like its reached the end of its territory.

"It stopped," I croak. "It stopped..."

Peeta, Katniss, and Finnick slowly turn their heads to the fog. It begins to rise upward now, as if being slowly vacuumed into the sky. We watch until it has all been sucked away and not the slightest wisp remains.

Peeta slowly rolls off of Finnick. I gasp and twitch as I crawl to Finnick, touching his face.

"F-Finnick," I whisper. "Finnick..."

He's struggling to speak. He smiles, his hand weakly reaching to hold my shoulder.

"Mon-hees," Peeta moans.

I look up and spot what I assume are monkeys.

I've never seen one in person but I have seen them in pictures. These have orange fur, and are about half the size of a full grown human. I take the monkeys for a good sign. Surely they wouldn't hang around if the air was deadly.

Peeta struggles to his knees and crawls down the slope. We follow him. I drag Finnick beside me, whispering words of encouragement.

When I see Katniss enter the water, her face contorts in slight pain, but then turns to relief. It looks almost like the water is healing her.

"Come on, Finnick," I say, pulling him closer. "Come—"

He whimpers and shakes his head.

"Finnick please— please— for me."

He looks up weakly, and I drag him closer to the water. By then Katniss and Peeta are able to climb out, and they help me drag him into the saltwater. I jump entirely in, moaning mostly in pain before relief floods in. But Finnick we bathe a little at a time. First his ankles, then his midcalf, knees, and so on. I'm stroking his face, which is slightly alleviating the burns on his cheeks. He looks at me gratefully, but he still can't talk.

Peeta and Katniss go and tap a tree to get us drinking water. I pull Finnick in fully, submerging his face for a second, then drawing it out.

He seems to be reviving. I lean down and kiss his forehead, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "Shhh," I say. "You're going to be okay. Just breathe."

"Are you... okay?" He croaks, his hand going to press on my still mostly flat stomach, as if he's trying to create a memory of it before I begin to grow while the child within me develops.

"I think so," I say, stroking his cheek. "I think I'm okay. I'm more worried about you."

He lets out a small chuckle. "Why... me? You're more... important."

"No I'm not," I say.

"Yes you are, dummy. Don't argue with me."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll kiss you."

"Do it, scaredy cat."

He musters up his strength and leans up to kiss me.

When Finnick finally feels better, he wiggles out of my arms, and away from the kiss. He begins to move slowly, just testing his limbs, and gradually begins to swim. But it's not like me swimming, the rhythmic strokes, the even pace. It's like watching some strange sea animal coming back to life. He dives and surfaces, spraying water out of his mouth, rolls over and over in some bizarre corkscrew motion that makes me dizzy even to watch. And then, when he's been underwater so long I feel certain he might have drowned himself, his head pops up right next to me and I jump.

His strong arms wrap around me, and I lean into him, looking into those beautiful sea green eyes that I hope our child inherits.

He kisses me, and I cup his face in my hands.

This is different from the kisses we've shared.

This feels more driven by fear, and desperation, like the kiss we shared on the rooftop before coming in. This particular kiss makes my stomach flip, and I find myself not wanting it to end, just like our first. I feel every ounce of passion and admiration for him slipping into it, and I find myself thinking that I was stupid to not want Finnick Odair in the first place, and to not forgive him sooner.

We pull away, however, because both of us sense something.

I slowly look up, and my breath hitches.

There are so many monkeys in the branches I feel greatly intimidated.

I carefully slip two knives above the water, and Finnick adjusts his trident in his hand.

Katniss is nearer to us, about two feet away. Peeta, however, is off near a tree.

"Peeta," I say as calmly as I can. "Can you come over here? Only move quietly, so you don't startle it."

They look at each other, confused, but begin to walk to us. "Okay," Peeta says, clearly catching on to the irregularity of it all.

Katniss slowly inches nearer to us, her bow prepped. I think she knows what I mean.

Peeta's just five yards from the beach when he senses them. His eyes dart up, triggering a bomb. The monkeys explode into a shrieking mass of orange fur and converge on him.


	26. Chapter 26

I've never seen any animal move so fast. The monkeys slide down the vines as if the things were greased. Leap impossible distances from tree to tree. Fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switchblades.

"They're Mutts!" I scream as I throw a knife on impulse, jumping out of the water immediately.

Luckily I've gotten good enough at it that it slices clean through three heads and comes spinning back to me, but I barely catch it.

Katniss is shooting arrow after arrow. Finnick is spearing them like fish and flinging them aside. Peeta's slashing away with his knife.

I don't care that I'm feeling bites on my leg or back— I'm throwing knives like a madwoman, trying to kill all the Mutts before they kill us.

The air grows heavy with trampled plants, the scent of blood, and the musty stink of the monkeys. The smell is overwhelming and I feel sicker than I already did, the nauseating feeling of my raging hormones mixed with this horrid stench almost makes me falter.

Peeta, Katniss, Finnick, and I position ourselves in a diamond, a few yards apart, backs to each other.

I'm luckily not yet running out of knives since I'm reusing them, but Katniss soon comes down to her last arrow.

"Peeta!" She shouts. "Your arrows!"

Peeta turns to see her predicament and is sliding off his sheath when it happens. A monkey lunges out of a tree for his chest. But I can't even focus on him because my knives are flying back at me, and I must catch them. I don't want to be the stupid tribute who cut her own face off.

Katniss runs to him, and I whirl around, my knives back in my hand.

However someone else appears. One moment there is no one, the next she is reeling in front of Peeta, already bloody, mouth open in a high pitched scream, pupils enlarged so her eyes seem like black holes.

The insane morphling from District Six throws up her skeletal arms as if to embrace the monkey, and it sinks its fangs into her chest.

Peeta drops the sheath and buries his knife into the monkey's back, stabbing it again and again until it releases his jaw. The monkeys are retreating, and Finnick and I are able to watch as Peeta shouts, panting with rage, until he finally gets the monkey off of the morphling and kicks it away.

I am horrified as I watch her limp body covered in blood be revealed from where the monkey had her pinned down.

Peeta gently lifts up the morphling and carries her the last few yards to the beach while Finnick, Katniss, and I keep our weapons at the ready.

Peeta lays the morphling on the sand. Katniss cuts away the material over her chest, revealing the four deep puncture wounds. Blood slowly trickles from them, but completely envelopes her, making them look far less deadly than they are. I can see the real damage is inside. By the position of the openings, I'm certain the beast ruptured her lung, or even her heart.

She lies on the sand, gasping like a fish out of water. Sagging skin, sickly green, her ribs as prominent as a child's dead of starvation.

Surely she can afford food, but she turned morphling. Everything about her speaks of waste— her body, her life, the vacant look in her eyes.

I can't believe we're losing her. I can still remember her looking aimless at the meeting, like she was barely understanding the words that were being spoken. Yet she still wanted to help, and here she's already lost her district partner and almost her own life, all for the cause.

Katniss holds one of her twitching hands, but I can't bring myself to take the other.

"I'll watch the trees," Finnick says softly. I follow him, and once we are away from the others, he lets out a small sob.

I know immediately he's remembering Mags right now.

"Finnick," I whisper, coming closer to him and pulling him into my arms.

I am alert as I comfort him. He cries, and I don't blame him.

"I'm sorry," I say, rubbing his back.

He nods, so I know he heard me. His shaky hands wrap around my back, and he presses me so close to him we're practically one person.

"Okay," he says at last, pulling away. He wipes his eyes. "No more."

I tiptoe to kiss him, and cup his cheek. "You are so brave," I say, stroking his face. "I admire that a lot. You are doing your best. Thank you."

His lip trembles but he does not allow himself to burst into tears. "I'm sorry," he says. "I-I should have done something— stopped them from putting you in here. If the baby gets hurt, I don't know what I'll do."

I sigh, and look away. "We just hope it doesn't. I think it'll be fine, but we'll see. Tell you what, if it's a girl, we'll name her Mags."

At this a smile appears on his face. "W-We might have a girl," he mumbles, leaning into my hand. I nod, giggling softly. "Yeah, we might."

Now feeling a lot better, he laces our fingers together and we walk around the surrounding area, picking up Katniss's arrows.

We don't have to speak. We just gather them in each other's presence, knowing we're there for each other. That's all we need.

When we walk back to them, the morphling is gone.

"Thought you might want these." Finnick drops her arrows beside her.

"Thanks," she says. She wades into the water, washing off her wounds and weapons. I sit a bit aways, just soaking my aching legs.

When Katniss resurfaces, the monkeys have disappeared. The vines shifted when I wasn't paying attention and cleaned them away.

We all stare at the jungle, numb and exhausted. In the quiet, I notice that the spots where the fog touched me have scabbed, meaning we are healing. The others have the same predicament. The scabs are itchy.

"Don't scratch," I say. "You'll bring infection and leave horrible marks on your face."

Finnick winces. I can tell it's hardest for him to resist. I crawl over and lay over his lap, holding his hands just below my chest so he can occupy himself with restraining his hands from grabbing my breasts rather than focusing on scratching.

He turns very red, knowing exactly what I'm doing.

Peeta and Katniss go retrieve some drinking water for us, and we drink until we can't anymore.

It's still night, though dawn can't be too many hours away. "Hey, you guys rest," I offer. "I'll watch for awhile."

"Me too," Finnick says.

Katniss and Peeta don't object, and fall asleep, curled up beside each other.

Eventually I switch places with Finnick, allowing him to lay in my lap so I can stroke his hair. He keeps a hand on his trident.

Neither of us can sleep.

And it's not like we have much to talk about.

He's mourning Mags. We're both currently aware that he had to choose to run with Peeta over her and leave her to Katniss and I in order to stick through with Haymitch's plan.

But we can't say that. So all I do is sing a lullaby that I have never forgotten, not since my childhood. Finnick breathes deeply, listening to my words. I sing about my District, and the gorgeous trees we see for miles. Our District rests nearest to District Four, so I know he must have seen our forests in the distance at one point.

In the midmorning, Katniss awakens first. By then, Finnick and I have woven bowls— since he refused to let my lullaby put him to sleep. I fill two bowls with water, and Finnick fills the third with shellfish.

Katniss nods when she sees it, and scratches her face.

"Hey," I scold. "Stop that."

She sighs and goes to the saltwater, washing her face. "Hey Haymitch," she snaps, looking at the sky. "If you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin."

It's almost funny how quickly the parachute appears. It plops right into her open hand. "About time," she says.

She brings it over and hands it to me, deciding I'll be the designated applier.

I unscrew the lid, and see inside a thick, dark ointment with a pungent smell, a combination of tar and pine needles.

I do Katniss's face, neck, and arms first, and Finnick snorts.

"She looks like she's decomposing," he says.

"You're about to look like that too," I say, switching over to smooth the ointment everywhere he's scabbed.

"Poor Finnick," Katniss says, a smirk of delight on her face. "Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?"

"It must be," he replies. "The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?"

I snort. "Just avoid mirrors," Katniss says. "You'll forget about it."

"Not if I keep looking at you," he states, taking the ointment to smear it on my face. We then all help each other slather it on our backs, where the undershirts didn't protect our skin.

"I'm going to wake Peeta," Katniss says once she's all covered.

"No, wait," says Finnick. "Let's do it together. Put all our faces right in front of his."

I like the idea. There's so little opportunity for fun in here— we simply must do it. We position ourselves around Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake.

"Peeta. Peeta, wake up," Katniss says in a soft, singsong voice.

His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we've stabbed him. "Aah!"

We all fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Poor Peeta is the least amused, but eventually once he gets his portion of the ointment, all is well.

A parachute suddenly lands next to us with a fresh loaf of bread. Finnick takes it, and turns the bread over in his hands, examining the crust. He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes and I understand.

Bread. A symbol.

"Finnick, it's not poisoned," I say to draw away suspicion as to why he's examining it so much.

"I know. Just checking for you and Katniss."

"Okay, dummy," I tease.

"This will go well with the shellfish," he says, smirking at me.

I help him clean the meat from the shellfish, then we gather round and eat the delicious sweet flesh with the salty bread from District Four.

Day four. One am. That's what we have ready for now.

"I'm sad I didn't get to grow up in your District," I sigh, pretending the bread is merely food and not a message. "This is so delicious."

We eat, not bothering to think too hard about the jungle around us. We've decided to stick to the shore.

Then, in the distance, comes screaming. Across from us, a wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate. An enormous wave crests high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It hits the existing seawater with such force that, even though we're as far as we can get from it, the surf bubbles up around our knees, setting our few possessions afloat. We manage to collect everything before it's carried off, except for our chemical riddled jumpsuits, which are so eaten away no one cares if we lose them.

A cannon fires. We see the hovercraft appear over the area where the wave began and pluck a body from the trees.

The circle of water slowly calms down, having absorbed the giant wave. We rearrange our things back on the wet sand and are about to settle down when we see two figures, stumbling in our direction.

"Who is that?" I mumble. One of the figures is tripping as if they're deranged, making strange loopy circles whilst moving forward. That figure is dragging a body. They're both brick red like they've been dipped in paint and let out to dry.

"Oh my god!" Katniss cries. "Wiress and Beetee!"

We sprinted towards them. Wiress looked disoriented as we checked Beetee, who was barely conscious.

"We thought... it was rain," he says, swallowing hard. "Because of... the lightning... and we were so thirsty... but it was blood... thick blood... you couldn't see... or speak... without it crashing on us... we staggered around trying to get out of it... that's when..." he looked right at me as I cleaned his face. "B-Blight hit the force field."

I felt my heart sink. "No," I whisper, my chest tightening. I feel my legs shake and suddenly I've collapsed. "No... no..."

"Morgan," Finnick says immediately. "Morgan breathe—"

I pound my fist into the earth. "No! Blight...."

I let out a sob, and Finnick is quick to come around to pull me into his arms as I begin to cry.

If only I'd kept Blight with us. If only I hadn't forgotten. If I'd just gone back and retrieved him.

Wiress twitches. "Tick tock... tick tock."

Some subconscious, furious part of me wants to slap her for disrupting my grieving, but I don't.

Beetee coughs. "She keeps doing... that. She's... in shock."

Peeta lifts Beetee in his arms and Katniss takes Wiress by the hand. She's still saying 'Tick tock' over and over again.

Katniss begins to wash Wiress, and I find it in myself to unhook Beetee's belt to find a heavy metal cylinder attached to the side with a rope of vines. I can't tell exactly what it is (though I assume it must he the coil) but if he thought it was worth saving, I'm not going to be the one who loses it.

As we try to get his clothes off, Beetee goes unconscious. His clothes are glued to him with blood. Finnick holds him in the water while I loosen them. It takes some time to get his jumpsuit off, and then we find his undergarments saturated with blood as well. There's no choice but to strip him naked to get him clean, but I don't even flinch. I've seen too many naked people in my life.

We put down the mat Finnick had made for me and lay Beetee on his stomach so we can examine his back. There's a gash about six inches long running from his shoulder blade to below his ribs. Fortunately, it's not too deep. He's lost a lot of blood, though, which can be seen by the pallor of his skin. It's still oozing out of the wound.

"We need to stop the blood," I say, my voice still shaking. "But— we need bandages."

"I have an idea," Katniss says. "Be right back."

She disappears and minutes later returns with some moss. I smile and use it to cover Beetee's cut. I secure it to him with vines. We get some water into him and them pull him into the shade at the edge of the jungle.

"That's all we can do for now," I say. "When he wakes up he'll be sore, but he should be okay."

"We should check on Wiress," Katniss suggests, which I agree to.

Katniss grabs a handful of moss to use as a rag and leads me to where Wiress is in the shallows. She doesn't resist as we work off her clothing, scrub the blood from her skin. But her eyes are dilated in fear, and when we speak to her, all she does is repeat "Tick tock" over and over.

"Yes, definitely," I say soothingly, feeling slightly calmer. I have to stay strong for everyone. "Tick tock. Of course." This seems to calm her down a bit. Katniss and I wash her jumpsuit until there's hardly any blood on it, and we help her back into it. It's not damaged the way ours were. Since her belt is fine, we fasten that on, too. Then we pin her undergarments and Beetee's under some rocks and let them soak.

After that I attempt to coax some shellfish into Wiress.

She refuses a lot, but eventually I convince her to take a few bites, and she agrees to eat.

I urge Katniss and Peeta to sleep, as I know I'm thinking too much to sleep.

"I'm sorry about Blight," Finnick tells me as he curls up beside me. I say nothing and simply stroke his hair, though tears are forming in my eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

He asks me this too much.

"Distraught," I mumble. "It's my fault Blight is gone."

"No it isn't, Morgan. You couldn't have gone back for him and survived. It... it happened. It's the nature of the Games."

"He was like a dad to me, Finnick. He trained Griffin and I."

"I know... I know..." he moves to hug me. "Physically, how do you feel?"

"I'm good physically," I murmur into his chest. "Thankfully haven't had the need to throw up. Probably because we haven't eaten very well."

He furrows his eyebrows in concern. "Are you really hungry right now? I can go try and catch something for you to eat."

"No, I'm okay. I never usually eat much, anyway."

"You're sure? Because—"

I touch his arm. "Finnick, I'm alright. Promise."

He seems to calm down, though only slightly. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you two," he says.

He's eyeing my stomach closely.

"We understand," I say, knowing he wants to include the baby in everything. "We aren't holding it against you. It's the situation. You're doing your part and we appreciate that."

I lean down to kiss him and he relaxes.

"Your kisses are nice," he says. "Gentle."

"I can kiss better than that."

"Oh? You'll need to show me after the baby's born."

"After? Why after?"

"We can't do anything while it's in there."

I blush, knowing what he means.

"Do you regret it?"

"No," I reply. "I don't."

He smiles. "That's— That's nice to know."

I half smile and start to stroke his hair again. "Poor you," I say, changing the subject. "With all these scabs. But trust me, you're still very good looking."

He blushes. "Not anymore."

"They'll go away. If we have a boy I hope he gets your hair. Your facial structure. Even if it's a girl I want it to have your eyes. They're gorgeous."

He nods. "Thank you darling. And for the record... Anything you need me to do, tell me. I don't want to ruin this thing with you. I want to make this more than just us having a baby together."

I look away slightly, though I smile. "I won't object to that."

"Tick tock."

Wiress has gotten up. She pokes Katniss, who snorts as she awakens.

"Tick tock," Katniss agrees. "Sleep, Wiress."

We switch off. Katniss offers to watch with Wiress, since she refuses to sleep, so Finnick pulls me into his arms, kissing my forehead. Unbeknownst to him, I smile.

I wouldn't mind doing this for the rest of my life.


	27. Chapter 27

"Get up," Katniss yells suddenly, which makes me snap awake. "Get up— we have to move."

She very abruptly explains her theory that the arena is a clock. She says Wiress's constant mention of "tick tock" was her having figured this out, and how the movements of the invisible hands trigger a deadly force in each section.

Wiress lets out a few panicked "tick tocks" as we gather our things and get Beetee back in his jumpsuit. Katniss soothes her by telling her she was right.

"Midnight," Wiress says in relief.

"It starts at midnight," Katniss confirms.

Wiress nods at the blood rain. "One thirty," she says.

"Exactly, one thirty," Katniss agrees. "And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there— so we have to move somewhere safe now."

Wiress complies. I give her some water and bread, and she gulps it down happily. It seems she's much better now that Katniss understood her.

Finnick and I exchange several looks in between. Katniss is brilliant, figuring out the clock without cues from us. I suppose Wiress let it slip, but it's alright, because it would have made sense for Wiress to figure it out anyway. And midnight— it makes perfect sense too.

"Let's go then," I say, trying to conceal the proud smile directed towards Katniss.

Peeta and Finnick try to lift Beetee, who moans "Wire."

"She's right here," Peeta tells him. "Wiress is fine. She's coming, too."

Beetee struggles against them. "Wire," he insists.

"Oh," I say. "I know what he wants."

I cross the beach and pick up the cylinder we took from his belt. "It's covered in blood, still, Beetee," I tell him. "But it should be okay. Is this a weapon for you?"

I have to make this the least suspicious as possible.

He slightly nods.

"He won his Games with wire," Peeta recalls. "Setting up that electrical trap. It's the best weapon he could have."

I'm so glad Peeta knows this.

"True," I say. "Well— we'll keep it on here for now, okay?" I strap it to my belt and Beetee moans in agreement. I turn to Finnick. "Where to?"

"I'd like to go to the Cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we're right about the clock," he states.

It seems as good a plan as any. Besides, there's a chance for us to go over the weapons again. That's not a bad thing.

We walk down the nearest sand strip, approaching the Cornucopia with care, just in case the Careers are concealed there. I doubt they are, since we've been on the beach for hours and haven't seen anything yet. The area's abandoned, as I expected. Only the big golden horn and the picked over pile of weapons remain.

When Peeta lays Beetee in the bit of shade the Cornucopia provides, he calls out to Wiress. She crouches beside him and he waves for me to come nearer. "Wire," he mumbles. I remove the coil from my belt and give it to Wiress, as Beetee motions me to. "Clean it, will you?" He asks her.

Wiress nods and scampers over to the water's edge, where she dunks the coil in the water. She starts quietly singing some funny little song, about a mouse running up a clock.

"A nursery rhyme," I say. "I remember that one."

Suddenly Wiress stands up very straight and points to the jungle. "Two," she says.

I follow her finger to where the wall of fog has just begun to seep out onto the beach.

"Wiress is right," Katniss says. "It's two o'clock and the fog has started."

"Like clockwork," Peeta notes. "You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress."

I appreciate how she figured what two o'clock and the others were. Without it, maybe we would head the wrong way.

Wiress smiles and goes back to singing and dunking her coil. "Oh, she's more than smart," Beetee says. "She's intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines."

"What's a canary?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

"It's a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there's bad air," Katniss replies.

"What does it do?" I furrow my eyebrows. "Does it just die?"

"It stops singing first. That's when you should get out. But if the air's too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you." She then says no more.

We go around the remaining weapons and restock. I add another knife belt that surprisingly no one took along with a few more axes, and Katniss restocks her arrows. Finnick searches for a trident, and it seems after awhile, he finds several.

Meanwhile, Peeta's been squatting on the ground, drawing something with the tip of his knife on a large, smooth lead he brought from the jungle.

Katniss and I peer over his shoulder. He's creating a map of the arena. In the center is the Cornucopia on its circle of sand with the twelve strips branching out from it. It looks like a pie slices into twelve equal wedges. There's another circle representing the waterline and a slightly larger one indicating the edge of the jungle.

"Look how the Cornucopia's positioned," Peeta says.

"The tail points toward twelve o'clock," Katniss notices.

"Right, so this is the top of our clock," he says, and quickly scratches the numbers one through twelve around the clock face. "Twelve to one is the lightning zone." He writes lightning in tiny print in the corresponding wedge, then works clockwise adding blood, fog, and monkeys in the following sections.

"And ten to eleven is the wave," I say. He adds it. Finnick returns to us, and puts his hand on my waist.

"I'm going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers' weapon follows us out past the jungle, do we'll stay clear of those," Peeta says, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. Then he sits back. "Well, it's a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway."

I straighten up. I get a sudden feeling— like the hairs on the back of my neck are standing.

I don't hear Wiress singing.

I grab an axe and whirl around to find a dripping wet Gloss letting Wiress slide to the ground, her throat slit open in a bright red smile.

I throw the axe furiously, and it lodges in Gloss's throat. In the time it takes me to get another axe, Katniss has shot an arrow into Cashmere's temple.

Finnick knocks away a spear Brutus throws at Peeta and takes Enobaria's knife in his thigh. If there wasn't a Cornucopia to duck behind, they'd be dead, both the tributes from District Two.

I don't bother to follow Enobaria, who's already running. Instead I sprint to Gloss, who's twitching beside his dying sister.

"You... got... me..." he croaks, a sadistic smile on his face as I pin him down, an axe pressed on his forehead.

"You deserve it," I snarl before raising the axe and bringing it crashing down into his forehead.

The cannon sounds immediately, to indicate Gloss is dead. Immediately after there are two more, and I know Wiress and Cashmere have also died.

Just as I get up to follow my allies in their pursuit of Enobaria, the ground jerks beneath my feet and I'm flung on my side in the sand. I scream as the circle of land that holds the Cornucopia starts spinning fast, really fast, and I can see the jungle going by in a blur. I feel the centrifugal force pulling me toward the water and I desperately dig my hands and feet into the sand, trying to get some purchase on the unstable ground. Between the flying sand and the dizziness, I have to squeeze my eyes shut. There is literally nothing I can do but hold on until, with no deceleration, we slam to a stop.

I cough, and manage to stand up, my legs shaky beneath me. I find my companions in the same condition. Finnick trips closer to me, and throws his arms around me as Katniss helps Peeta up.

"Finnick— Finnick are you hurt?" I cry, feeling where Enobaria stabbed his thigh.

"I'm fine," he says queasily. "Fine— not too deep— are you— okay?"

"I'm... fine," I say frantically. "Where's Beetee?"

One wobbly circle of the Cornucopia confirms he's gone. Finnick spots him about twenty yards out in the water, barely keeping afloat, and swims out to haul him in.

"The wire," I say, biting my lip. "Shit— where's the wire?"

"It's there," Katniss says. I see it, still clutched in Wiress's hands, far out in the water.

"Damn it," I hiss. "Cover me."

I toss aside my weapons and race down the strip closest to her body. Without slowing down, I dive into the water and start for her. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the hovercraft appearing over us, the claw starting to descend to take her away. But I don't stop. I just keep swimming as hard as I can and end up slamming into her body. I come up gasping, trying to avoid swallowing the blood stained water that spreads out from the open wound in her neck. She's floating on her back, borne up by her belt and death, staring into the relentless sun. As I tread water, I have to wrench the coil of wire from her fingers, because her final grip on it is so tight. There's nothing I can do then but closer her eyelids, whisper goodbye, and thank you, and swim away. By the time I swing the coil up onto the sand and pull myself from the water, her body is gone. But I can still taste her blood mingled with the sea salt.

Finnick yanks me up, wrapping his arm around me and leading me to where Beetee is now sitting up. He's still snorting out water, but he looks okay. He had the good sense to hang onto his glasses, so at least he can see. I place the reel of wire on his lap. It's sparkling clean, no blood left at all. He unravels a piece of the wire and runs it through his fingers. For the first time I see it, and it's unlike any wire I know. A pale golden color as fine as a piece of hair. I wonder how long it is. There must be miles of the stuff to fill the large spool. But I don't ask, because I know he's thinking of Wiress.

Finnick strips off his undershirt and ties it around the wound Enobaria's knife made in his thigh. "See, blood's stopping," he tells me. "I'm good."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yes."

I kiss his cheek for good measure.

Once Beetee thinks he can walk now if we go slowly, Katniss helps him up. We compromise at heading to twelve o'clock, but then everyone heads off in a different direction.

"Okay," I say. "The tail used to point at twelve, right?"

"Before they spun us," Finnick notes. "I was judging by the sun."

"The sun only tells you it's going on four, Finnick," Katniss says.

"I think Katniss's point is, knowing the time doesn't mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider that they may have shifted the outer ring of jungle as well," Beetee says.

"Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o'clock," I say.

We circle around the Cornucopia, scrutinizing the jungle. It has a baffling uniformity. I remember the tall tree that took the first lightning strike at twelce o'clock, but every sector has a similar tree. Finnick thinks we should follow in Enobaria and Brutus's tracks, but they've been blown or washed away. There's no way of telling where anything is.

"I should have never mentioned the clock," Katniss says miserably. "Now they've taken that advantage away as well."

"Only temporarily," I say. "Trust me— they probably can't redesign the whole arena, so when the wave hits at ten we'll be back on track. Either way it's a good thing you told us when you figured it out, or we might have died."

Katniss reluctantly accepts my point. I wish I could tell her that it's all going to be okay.

We randomly choose a path and take it, having no idea what number we're headed for. When we reach the jungle, we peer into it, trying to decipher what may be waiting inside.

"Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don't see any of them in there," Peeta says. "I'm going to try to tap a tree."

"No, it's my turn," Finnick says.

"I'll at least watch your back," Peeta offers.

"I got it," I say. "Katniss and I can go. Peeta, you need to make another map."

Katniss and I take the spile and head further into the jungle. She seems deep in thought, and is looking at me strangely as I dig my axe into the tree.

"Katniss," I say, "got the spile?"

She flinches a bit. Then she hands me the tube.

That's when we hear the scream. A scream so full of fear and pain it ices my blood. Katniss looks terrified, and she drops the spile, sprinting in the direction of the voice.

"PRIM!" She screams as she runs. "PRIM! PRIM!"

I bolt after her, knowing right away it's the voice of her sister.

I follow her, screaming for her to come back, but she doesn't listen. I crash through the clearing behind her just as she yanks an arrow out of a bird— which I now recognize to be a jabberjay.

"Katniss!" I cry.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she stammers, her voice shaky. "I thought I heard my sister but—"

There's another piercing shriek. This time, it's one that makes every muscle in my body tense.

"Morgan," Katniss says, her eyes wide. "Morgan— it's not real—"

But I don't even hear her. I react instantly, sprinting to where I hear the noise.

"GRETCHEN!" I scream. "GRETCHEN— WHERE ARE YOU?!"

I can't even begin to register the fact that it couldn't possibly be real. It can't be Gretchen. She isn't even alive.

An arrow soars above me and Gretchen's screaming stops as a bird flops down before me, an arrow just inside its skull.

"Morgan!" Katniss cries. She runs up to me and grabs my shoulders. I fight against her but she shakes me roughly. "Morgan— it's a jabberjay— they're playing a trick. It's not real. It's not... Gretchen."

My body stops fighting against her and I feel myself shaking. I can hardly think as I say, "No... I know it isn't her... but... jabberjays mimick what they hear. I can't help thinking if they kept this recording from when they killed her."

Katniss goes pale and I know she immediately thinks that they must have tortured her sister to get the sound out.

She begins to tremble head to toe as another voice yells out in pain, and she flinches, prepared to run.

"It's not him!" I cry, "it's not him, Katniss! It's a mutt!"

But then another yell can be heard, louder than how I heard Gretchen scream.

"Devan!" I cry, and this time it's Katniss who has to hold me back. "Devan! DEVAN!"

"It's not him!" Katniss yells forcefully.

"I know—" I choke. She lets go of me to shoot the two birds.

However the third voice I hear is the one that really makes me forget that they're only jabberjays.

Because although Gretchen and Devan are dead, I have never found out if Misha is too.

"Misha!" I scream, about to bolt in his direction. "MISHA! MISHA!"

"IT ISN'T HIM EITHER!" Katniss cries in desperation. She begins to drag me back to the others at full speed, and I'm screaming as we run, struggling against her.

"MORGAN, STOP FIGHTING!" Katniss yells.

"NO! MISHA— MISHA!"

She smacks me hard and I elbow her back. "LET ME GO! IT'S MISHA! MISHA IS ALIVE! LET ME GO— LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

Katniss yanks me harder back, facing away from where the sound is coming from. Through my furious, desperate tears, I catch sight of Peeta and Finnick standing at the tree line. I grow furious— why didn't they come to help us?

But when we run into the transparent wall, I understand. I scream in pain as my head crashes into it, and I crumple to the floor. Finnick yells and bangs on the other side, but nothing breaks the barrier.

He's trying to say something, because I see his lips moving, but I can't hear anything. I'm sobbing now, because birds are surrounding Katniss and I. I can hear Gretchen and Devan and Misha all over again, screaming and screaming. I swear Blight's voice is in there, and Johanna's, and Mrs. Vangsenn, and Brannock's, the Allardyce's are all in there, and I can certainly hear my parents too. Even Finnick's yells are in there, and I find myself wanting to run to help him even when he's literally right in front of me.

"MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!" I sob, curling up into a ball and covering my ears, my eyes shut tight. "PLEASE! I-I don't want to hear them— I don't want to think—"

I suddenly flinch when I feel Finnick's hands on me.

"No!" I scream. "Let go of me!"

"Morgan— it's me," he says in a desperate whisper. "It's Finnick— it's Finnick—"

I feel myself being lifted off the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay in my position even when he lays me on his lap, rocking me gently and singing the same lullaby I sang to him before.

"You're okay," he whispers, stroking my hair. "You're okay."

"You didn't h-hear them," I choke when I can finally move my mouth again, my lips still trembling.

"I heard Gretchen."

I tense, and gulp.

"It's not them. I swear it's not."

"W-Who's Gretchen?" I hear Katniss ask softly.

I don't feel like answering, but I do.

"My little sister," I say softly. "Devan— my brother. And Misha—"

"I know Misha's hit hard," Finnick whispers. "Because you never got confirmation of what happened to him. But it wasn't him."

I nod, my hands twitching horribly. "I-I know Gretchen and Devan are dead— they were killed just after my parents.... first they got them in the mills. Then they got Devan while he was celebrating his twentieth birthday with friends. Finally, Gretchen... she was only fourteen."

I swallow hard, willing myself to continue. "B-But Misha..."

"It wasn't him," Finnick insists. "It wasn't."

"But how... can they do that?" I choke. "Can they even do that? Take someone's regular voice and make it...."

"Oh yes," Beetee says, scooting closer to us. "It's not even that difficult, Morgan. Our children learn a similar technique in school."

"And the whole country adores Katniss's little sister," Finnick adds. "If they really killed her like this, they'd have an uprising on their hands."

I grip Finnick's shirt, leaning my head into his chest. I don't even want to consider any of this anymore.

Gretchen and Devan are dead. Misha is most likely dead too. Brannock is dead, my parents are dead, Blight is dead. But the living voices...

A cannon blast brings us to the beach. A hovercraft appears in what we estimate is the six to seven o'clock zone. We watch as the claw dips down five different times to retrieve the pieces of one body, torn apart. It's impossible to tell who it was. Whatever happens at six o'clock, I never want to know.

Peeta draws a new map on a leaf, adding a JJ for jabberjays in the four to five o'clock section and simply writing beast in the one where we saw the tribute collected in pieces. We now have a pretty good idea of what seven of the next hours will bring. And if there's any positive to the jabberjay attack, it's that it lets us know where we are on the clock face again.

Finnick weaves yet another water basket and a net for fishing. I take a swim as he hunts, trying to forget what I've heard.

I can tell Finnick is beyond worried about me. He's completely paranoid I'll break down now, and for good reason. He watched my flip my shit with Silka and probably thinks this will make me go off the edge now too.

Once Finnick returns with fish I sit on the edge of the water and clean them with him. The sun drops below the horizon across from us.

"What are you feeling?" Finnick whispers.

"Pain," I mumble. "Emotional pain. I need— I need the closure. I-I need to know what happened to Misha. I miss him. I may not have loved him the way... the way I love you, but he was still someone that mattered a lot to me..."

Finnick's looking at me a different way now, and I can't figure out why.

"What?" I ask, swallowing hard, thinking I said something wrong.

"You... love me?"

I blush, looking at his lips on impulse. "I do love you, Finnick."

He doesn't hesitate to press his lips onto mine.

The bright moon is already on the rise, filling the arena with a strange twilight. We're about to settle down to our meal of raw fish when the anthem begins. And then the faces...

Cashmere. Gloss. Wiress. Mags. The woman from Five. The morphling who gave her life for Peeta. Blight. The man from Ten.

Eight dead. Plus eight from the first night. Two thirds of us gone in a day and a half. It's almost as bad as the record I set.

"They're really burning through us," Finnick says. "Who's left? Besides us five and District Two?"

"Chaff," Peeta says immediately.

That's it. Only eight of us left.

A parachute comes down with a pile of bite-sized square shaped rolls.

"These are from your district, right, Beetee?" Peeta asks.

"Yes, from District Three," he says. "How many are there?"

Finnick looks at me sideways before counting them, turning each one over in his hands before he sets it in a neat configuration. "Twenty four."

"An even two dozen, then?" Beetee asks.

"Twenty four on the nose. How should we divide them?"

"Let's each have three," I say. "Then we can split the last one in the morning."

"Why don't we all have three," Finnick says, "except for you and Katniss. You split the last bread so you each get three and a half."

"Oh come on," I say. "Just cause we're pregnant doesn't mean we need the extra bread."

"Technically you do," Finnick says. "Come on. For me."

He puts his hand on my stomach and I feel guilt tripped into it.

We wait until the giant wave has flooded out of the ten to eleven o'clock section, wait for the water to recede, and then go to that beach to make camp. Theoretically, we should have a full twelve hours of safety from the jungle. There's an unpleasant chorus of clicking, probably from some evil type of insect, coming from the eleven to twelve o'clock wedge. But whatever is making the sound stays within the confines of the jungle and we keep off that part of the beach just in case they're waiting for a carelessly placed footfall to swarm out.

Finnick urges me to go to sleep. Katniss and Peeta offer to keep watch. I reluctantly agree, curling up in Finnick's chest.

"You're okay," he whispers in my ear, rubbing my back. "You're going to be okay."

"How can you be sure?" I whisper into his chest, which is very warm.

"I just am. Sleep, now. I love you, Morgan Reeves."

He kisses my forehead and I smile. "I love you, Finnick Odair."


	28. Chapter 28

It seems no one ever woke me up to take my watch, because when I open my eyes, everyone is up and watching the descent of a parachute on the beach.

It's another delivery of bread, identical to the one we received last night. Twenty four rolls from District Three. Now we have thirty three total, so we each take five and reserve eight.

I look at Finnick as we eat. The bread is no coincidence. He nods and I know it's what I thought it might be.

Day three. Midnight.

The plan is finally in proper motion, and I'm excited because today is the day that all of this comes into play.

We just need to figure it out as we go, because we never solidified a plan. Maybe that'll happen soon.

While Katniss and Peeta swim, Finnick lays me back on his lap. I notice his hand automatically goes to rest on my stomach without a second thought.

I get to thinking about the baby again, which I haven't done in awhile.

What'll it be like? Will it have Finnick's personality or mine? Will I have a smooth labor or no? Will it love Finnick more, or me? What if it hates us both?

"Morgan?"

I look up at Finnick, who seems to have been staring intently at me for the past few minutes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," I say, putting my hand over his and squeezing it. "No nausea or anything."

He smiles and leans down, talking directly to my stomach, "You better keep calm in there, okay? You've been nice so far not giving your mommy morning sickness but if you don't keep it up, daddy might have to tickle attack you."

I laugh lightly. Obviously the baby can't respond, but Finnick nods. "He gets it," he says.

"How do you know it's a boy?" I inquire.

He taps his temple, smirking. "I know it. My sperm gets to choose the gender right?"

"Well yeah but it's random, you couldn't know."

"Trust me. I know. It's a boy. Might as well just start calling him Devan."

My heart skips a beat. "Y-You want to—?"

"It's only proper, right? What was your dad's name? We can put that as his middle name or the other way around depending what sounds better when you say 'Odair' at the end of it, but unless you want to be weird and not give it a middle name then—"

I don't let him finish. I sit up and connect our lips, grabbing his face to make sure the kiss is as firm as it can be.

Finnick is caught by surprise, but he kisses back, and I feel his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. I don't object, and moan into his lips. His tongue slams mine down, and in an instant he's moved me to sit with my legs around his waist, one of his hands on my lower back and one on my neck while I keep holding his face.

I don't want to break away. I love this feeling. I appreciate Finnick. I don't deserve him. He immediately decided we would name the baby, if it was a boy, after my brother. I hadn't expected he'd wanted that. It made me happy to know he did.

Finnick's hands slide down from my back to my thighs, which he grips hard. I gasp slightly and he takes the opportunity to pin my tongue down again, then flips us so I'm laying down and he's on top of me. I have to admit it's probably best if we stop this soon since we can't exactly do anything.

"We should give the Capitol a show," Finnick purrs in my ear as he starts kissing my neck. "Now that we're sober and all."

"No, I'm not being recorded again," I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to kiss a spot that sends electricity all the way down my body and makes me want to just give myself entirely to Finnick right here and right now, even if it's not the best idea.

"We can hide somewhere—"

"It's probably not good for the baby—"

He groans and I giggle, moving my hands to tickle him. He jumps a bit and picks me up with ease before spinning my around, then hoisting me up so I'm sitting on his shoulders.

"It's like we're one tall person now," I pant, trying to catch my breath.

"Oh yes, now we are truly unstoppable," Finnick says, looking up at me. I allow myself to slump back a bit so I can lean down and kiss him again, just as we are.

"Hey Finnick! We figured out how to make you pretty again!"

I groan as he pulls away to look where Peeta and Katniss are waving us both over.

"Stop sucking her face and come here!" Peeta says, a smirk on his face.

"That's rich, coming from you!" I say. I then shriek, because Finnick starts to run, and I have to hold on for dear life as carries me to the water, though I know he'd never let me fall.

The four of us scour all the scabs from our bodies in the water, which makes me feel so much better. Finnick kisses small portions of my bare shoulders as he helps me with my back. We come out as pink as the sky, then apply another round of medicine because the skin seems too delicate for the sunlight, but it doesn't look half as bad on smooth skin and will be good camouflage in the jungle.

Beetee calls us over, and it turns out he has a plan. However, Finnick and I know it's been like this for the past months, and Beetee's just been perfecting it. I feel sort of bad we didn't contribute, but Beetee seems to like that we weren't involved because it gave him room to really think it through.

"I think we'll agree our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," he says. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. Enobaria is scared of Morgan too."

"Hold on— she is?" I ask quizzically.

"Oh yes, she is. She's always been afraid of what you'd do, and especially after you killed Gloss, she'll be much more paranoid. She won't say it to your face though."

The thought of that is alleviating, and empowering.

"Anyway," Beetee continues, "They'll likely have noticed the different attack zones and how our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention. This may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock. So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap."

He draws a circle and divides it into twelve wedges. It's the arena, not rendered in Peeta's precise strokes but in the rough lines of a man whose mind is occupied by other, far more complex things.

"If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?" Beetee asks.

"The beach," I say, thinking immediately of the resource Plutarch mentioned. "But they're likely not here because we're here."

"Exactly," Beetee says. "Now where would you go?"

"I'd hide just at the end of the jungle," Katniss says. "So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us."

"Also to eat," Finnick adds, looking sideways at me. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I'd know the seafood's safe."

"Yes, good," Beetee says, pleased with our answers. "Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and at midnight?"

"The lightning bolt hits the tree," Katniss says.

"Yes. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down to the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at the moment will be electrocuted."

"Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee?" Peeta asks. "It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up."

"Oh, it will. But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it."

"How do you know?" I say, playing it off like I haven't known this was the plan the entire time.

"Because I invented it," Beetee says. "It's not actually a wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lighting nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Morgan. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," I say. "But it hasn't been, so it's safe to use."

"Don't worry about the wire— it will do just what I say," Beetee assures us. "You should all be far up enough in the Jungle to be safe."

"But all the seafood will be cooked," Peeta says.

"Probably completely eliminated," I deduce. "But we have the nuts and rats and our sponsors."

Katniss looks at Peeta and nods. "Let's do it."

Beetee decides he wants to inspect the lightning tree before he has to rig it. Judging by the sun, it's about nine in the morning. We have to leave our beach soon, anyway. So we break camp, and head into the jungle.

As we near the tree, Finnick suggests that Katniss and I take the lead. "They can hear the force field," he tells Beetee.

"Hear it?" Asks Beetee.

I explain how Katniss's reconstructed ear and my randomly tinnitus plagued ears since childhood can pick up a sound. I know Beetee's not fooled, but I can also sense he knows I am saying this so the Capitol doesn't know his trick. His lip twitches and he smiles. "Then by all means, please go ahead. I'm glad we have two people who can do that. Force fields are nothing to play around with."

Yeah, cause we're about to blow it up...

The lightning tree is unmistakable as it towers so high over the others. "Just stay below the lightning tree," Katniss says as she throws a nut to confirm what I pointed out to her as a possible force field spot.

We divide up duties. Finnick guards Beetee while he examines the tree, Peeta taps for water, I gather nuts, and Katniss hunts nearby.

Beetee is busy messing around the tree even after I've toasted nuts on the force field. At one point he snaps off a sliver of bark, joins us, and throws it against the force field. It glows then returns to its color. "Well, that explains a lot," Beetee mutters.

It doesn't mean anything to us.

Moments later the clicks start in the section beside us, meaning it's eleven o'clock.

"It's not mechanical," Beetee says decidedly.

"I'd guess insects or something with pincers," I say. "We should leave. There's less than an hour before the lightning starts."

We only move to the identical tree in the blood rain section. We eat our jungle food, waiting for the bolt that signals noon.

After the bolt hits, we take a circuitous route to the ten o'clock beach. The sand is smooth and damp, swept clean by the recent wave. Beetee essentially gives us the afternoon off while he works with the wire.

At first we take turns having naps in the shadowy edge of the jungle, but by late afternoon everyone is awake and restless. We decide, since this might be our last chance for seafood, to make a sort of feast of it.

Finnick teaches me how to spear fish and gather shellfish, though he says not to exert myself diving for oysters.

I then lay out the seafood for us all to prepare it. Peeta pries open an oyster and he laughs, holding up a perfect pearl the size of a pea. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls," Peeta says earnestly to Finnick.

"No it doesn't," Finnick says dismissively, and Katniss and Peeta burst out laughing.

"I think we stumbled on an inside joke," I say to Finnick as I keep cracking open more oysters.

Peeta gives Katniss the pearl, and Finnick averts his eyes.

"What?" I inquire. "Let them be."

"I'm just not thinking about that tiny thing. Instead, of the enormous one I'll get you later."

"What?" I say.

"We have to have one. A big one— for decoration in our house."

"Our house."

"Well yeah, I don't fancy walking a block to see our kid."

I blush. I don't say anymore, though, because a parachute drops another round of rolls from District Three and some sauce.

We enjoy the bread with the oysters and sauce, occasionally adding some shellfish into the mix.

There's nothing to do now but wait.

Once the sun sets, the anthem begins. There are no faces in the sky today. The audience will be restless, thirsting for blood.

At around nine we cross the twelve o'clock beach, and begin to quietly hike up to the lightning tree in the light of the moon. Our full stomachs make us more uncomfortable and breathless.

"I sort of regret eating all those damn oysters," I huff. Finnick laughs.

When we arrive, Beetee asks Finnick to assist him, and the rest of us stand guard. Before he even attaches any wire to the tree, Beetee unrolls yards and yards of it and has Finnick secure it tightly around a broken branch and lay it on the ground. They work to wrap the wire around the trunk.

The work on the trunk is completed just as the wave begins. Katniss assumes it's ten thirty based on the sky.

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. He wants Katniss and I to take the coil and unwind it as we go and lay it across the twelve o'clock beach and drop the metal spool with whatever's left deep into the water and make sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle.

"I want to go with them as a guard," Peeta says immediately.

"You're too slow. Besides, I'll need you on this end. Katniss will guard," Beetee says. "There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now."

Peeta looks uncertain as Beetee hands me the coil.

"It's okay," Katniss tells him. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up."

"Not into the lightning zone," Beetee says. "Head for the tree in the one to two o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

Katniss cups Peeta's face in her hands. "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight." She kisses him then turns to me. "Ready?"

I nod and wave for her to follow me, waving to Finnick, who blows me a kiss.

We walk for awhile, Katniss making sure the wire doesn't get caught as I uncoil it.

But suddenly I feel the tension in the coil be alleviated. Then the severed end snakes up to our feet.

It only takes a second to register this rapid turn of events. I look at Katniss and I know she understands that someone not far above us has cut the wire. And they will be on us at any moment.

Katniss has just reached for an arrow when I do what we'd decided I'd do. I grab the metal cylinder and whack her on the back of the head. She crumples and I yank a knife out of my belt. I dig it into her arm, and feel the tip hit her tracker. I swirl my knife inside her flesh and she screams in pain. I then rip my knife out, seeing the tiny tracker plop under a cluster of rocks. I then smear my hand in her blood and coat it all over her face.

"Stay down," I hiss as I get up. Katniss is staring at me blankly and I growl, loud enough for whoever is near us to hear, "That'll teach you to try and fucking get my baby killed, bitch."

Then I sprint off. I only dare look over my shoulder once. I briefly see Brutus and Enobaria look at Katniss's body, then decide she's dead and sprint after me.

I don't really know where I'm leading them. I just run, hearing them breaking plants left and right to get to me. It's only when I feel my full belly really weighing me down that I whirl around to throw a knife. It hits Enobaria in the thigh and she roars.

"You just wait til I get my teeth on you, Reeves!" She snarls. "I'll make sure I rip every organ out of your body!"

"Aw Enobaria, I didn't know you knew what an organ was!" I spit back.

I somehow end up going around, and run into Peeta, who has Chaff from Eleven beside him.

The only problem is I literally run into Peeta. I smash into him and we fall as Brutus throws his spear.

I let out a scream as Chaff falls, his eyes wide, the spear deep in his throat. Peeta roars in fury and stands, and in seconds his knife has cut into Brutus's abdomen. Two cannons sound in one.

"PEETA!" I hear Katniss scream in the distance.

Enobaria growls and launches herself at Peeta. I block her, and she snarls as my knife slices her arm. She breaks into a sprint back toward the lightning tree.

I lose track of Peeta. I think he ran to find Katniss, but I'm not sure.

Up ahead I can hear Finnick's voice calling my name. I'm yelling at them to be ready for when Enobaria comes.

But it doesn't seem Finnick is near the tree anymore. Enobaria runs right up to Beetee, and in one swift move she stabs him.

I feel myself grow even more furious. I kick her shins, and she falls. Immediately I straddle her, pressing my knife on her throat, not really paying attention to the fact Katniss is stumbling back to the tree.

"You want to fucking kill me?" Enobaria growls. "Do it. You don't have the balls anymore, Reeves."

In response, I stab her arm completely through, and she howls in pain, thrashing below me.

She then suddenly flips us over and I scream, desperately trying to get her off me. I can't let her get me like this, I can't let her pin me down and leave me vulnerable because then I'd be giving up. I struggle against her grip, but she's strong, and I cry out in fury slapping her.

She suddenly stabs my thigh and I scream again, doing everything I can to push her off me. "You are not— getting me—" I snarl, kicking my only good leg at her. Enobaria starts to chuckle as she punches me hard in the face, then snaps my arms back to keep me from throwing her off.

"How about I bite that baby out of you?" She sneers, holding her knife over my belly. "How about that? Aw, does that make you sad? Maybe you shouldn't have been whoring around, Reeves. Sounds like you made a mistake, didn't you? Just like you made a mistake opening that big mouth of yours and letting Tressa find out what your stupid family was doing, hmm? Their death is all on you, sweetheart. And now, your baby's death is going to be on you, too. Maybe after this I'll bring it out and show it to Finnick so he can see what a bad mother you were. Finnick's always been such a cutie, hmm? I wouldn't mind taking him for myself...."

This makes me more furious with her than I already am. I knee her in the groin hard, and without hesitation I slam my head up to knock her back, then swiftly kick her stomach to scramble up and pin her under me again, removing an axe from my belt.

"Funny, Enobaria, how the tables turn," I growl, seeing her eyes widen in fear. "You will never, EVER threaten my family again. Finnick is mine, not yours, and you're going to die before you hurt my baby. Understood?" I press my axe against her throat hard and she chokes. "I'm not showing you any mercy, just how I didn't show any for Tressa," I hiss, leaning closer to her face. "You bitches don't deserve it. That's what you fucking get." She wheezes as I dig the axe in harder. "Goodbye, Enobaria. This is for my family." With a single swipe, I slit her throat.

The cannon explodes and I stumble up, feeling completely nauseous. Katniss is nowhere in sight now but I can hear Peeta calling for her.

I cry out in pain as my injuries overwhelm me, and I stumble, holding my leg. I collapse against a tree, and just then, Finnick bursts out of the woods to me.

"Morgan!" He yells. His arm is bleeding as if he's just cut out his tracker.

"Cut mine," I croak, collapsing in his arm as blood pours out of my leg.

He digs one of my own knives into my arm and I scream, muffling it into his chest. Then I slump onto him, vaguely aware that Katniss is somewhere behind us.

Finnick suddenly tenses. "Shit— shit—"

He picks me up and begins to run. I moan in pain, my body limp on his shoulders.

Then the lightning strikes the tree, and Finnick pushes me to the ground, his body shielding mine. My vision is blurry but I watch the dome above burst into a dazzling blue light. I can feel electricity bouncing all around me, but even then I know it's not the worst it can be because Finnick's body is shielding me completely.

Everything seems to erupt at once, and I feel Finnick straining to make sure none of the exploding earth around us hurts me in any way. His arms and legs are completely covering mine, and even his face is right on top of mine to shield me from all that's being uprooted and destroyed behind us.

All around us trees burst into flames. Even the sky is filled with brightly colored blossoms of light. I can't think why the sky's being bombed until I realize they're fireworks.

Does it mean our plan worked?

I don't know for awhile, because at one point I go unconscious.


	29. Chapter 29

**Morgan Reeves's POV**

_After the 75th Hunger Games_

I slowly open my eyes, and immediately I sense pain.

I hiss softly, looking around.

I can't recognize the room I'm in. It doesn't look Capitolian to me.

I can see that I'm hooked up to several machines, and that I'm in a hospital gown. Who dressed me?

"Morgan."

I flinch, until I see it's Finnick. He's sitting on a chair beside me, and he gets up quickly and moves to stroke my hair.

"Where are we?" I ask immediately, feeling my heart rate going up. "Where— where—"

"Shhh... calm down. We're in the hovercraft."

"Hovercraft? Hover— it worked?"

He nods, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "We got out."

I choke and begin to cry. "We got out... we got out..."

Then I stop. "Finnick— Finnick— the baby— is the baby okay?"

His smile falls, and he bites his lip. "We don't know yet. As far as we can tell, there hasn't been any signs of you having a miscarriage, but there isn't an ultrasound machine on here for us to be able to tell whether it's okay or not."

I begin to breathe heavily, and Finnick takes my hand. "Breathe. Morgan, please breathe. It's okay. Right now, no news on it is good news. You don't want to get too nervous."

"Finnick but what if the baby—"

"—is fine," he says, shaking his head. "Don't think anything else. Repeat after me— the baby is fine."

"The baby is fine," I whisper.

"Again."

"The baby is fine..."

It only takes a few more times of me saying it for me to calm down, and I lean into Finnick's arms.

"What happened?" I ask.

He takes a deep breath. "Well... Katniss shot the arrow at the force field. To be honest I don't know what possessed her to do it but it worked out perfectly. And everything exploded. Beetee, Katniss, you and I, were all close together, and we were picked up immediately. But Peeta..."

My heart sinks. "No..."

"He's not dead, as far as we know," Finnick says. "But he— he wasn't as close as he was supposed to be. He had been running around looking for Katniss and they couldn't rescue him in time. It was already too late to get his tracker out and he was too far...."

"You're kidding," I whimper, beginning to tear up. "No... no..."

"Morgan, breathe. I... I know it's awful but we need to stay strong. For Katniss. You know Peeta wasn't our main focus and we have to stick with that. Besides, she hasn't woken up yet. And she's not going to be happy when she does."

I gulp and nod. "Who... who else is in here?"

"Haymitch and Plutarch. That boy who's friends with Katniss— Gale. Beetee, you, and I, and some others who I don't know."

"Wait... what about Johanna?"

Finnick hesitates. "Morgan she..."

"Just tell me."

"She's also been taken by the Capitol."

I jump up. "What? But how?! She— she was with Haymitch and—"

"She got down to try to get Peeta without telling Haymitch and Plutarch— she knew Katniss would want him— and by the time they got our bodies up she hadn't found him and her connection was lost."

I begin to cry, and Finnick wraps his strong arms even tighter around me. "No... no..." I moan. "It... it can't be..."

"I know... I'm sorry..."

"I already lost Blight, and now—"

"Shhh... calm down."

He has to hold me for awhile before I can steady my breathing, and then he crawls into my bed with me to help me get comfortable in his chest.

"Hopefully one of the few doctors will be around soon to check on you," he murmurs. "That way we can get you checked before we take you to eat."

"Okay," I say quietly, my hands holding the collar of Finnick's shirt tightly. "Finnick... do you think they'll hurt Johanna and Peeta?"

He sighs. "They will. No doubt about it. Johanna especially, when they realize she knows things."

"Damn it... I shouldn't have told her."

"You had to, she was on the list."

"Half the people on the list died or were screwed over."

"You couldn't control that."

I sigh and wrap my arms around his neck. "Finnick... can you sing something?"

He lets out a soft chuckle. "Like what?"

"A lullaby. Anything."

He starts to sing the lullaby I sang for him in the arena, and I feel my body relaxing.

Awhile later the doors open and a young woman steps inside. "Hello Morgan, I'm here to do some checks on you."

Finnick gets out of the bed and the doctor tries to shoo him out, but I whine. "Please, let him stay."

She reluctantly agrees so long as he stays out of her way.

She removes my hospital gown, leaving my naked body on display for Finnick. She takes her time checking the wound on my leg, before injecting some medicine into my thigh. I hiss, and Finnick gives me a thumbs up to encourage me.

"It's going to feel much better soon," he promises. "They injected my thigh like that and soon after, the scar and the pain faded away."

"Yes, thank you," the doctor murmurs as she stands and starts to examine my arms. "Mmm are your arms sore?"

"No, thankfully."

"That's good. You don't seem to have any other effects from the explosion."

"I had many," Finnick says nonchalantly.

"Well yeah, you shielded me," I say. I turn to the doctor. "Do you have any way of seeing if our baby is still okay?"

She shakes her head. "Not at the moment, but the heart monitor would pick up any distress, so we're assuming all is good. It's likely that him shielding you was the only reason your baby didn't die. Katniss may not have been pregnant but if she was, she would have lost it."

I smile thankfully at Finnick, who winks.

The doctor turns me around to examine my back. "Good, good. You had an old scar on your lower back, but we removed it."

"Probably from when I got stabbed two years ago," I say. "Thank you."

"Of course. We also took the liberty of giving you some prenatal vitamins. You'll need to keep taking them."

"Alright. Is that all?"

"For the check up, yes. Now, we need to talk."

I furrow my eyebrows and put my gown back on before sitting down.

"Morgan, you are still in line to be the next Mockingjay. You are aware of this, yes?"

"I am," I reply. "They made it clear to me that I also needed to be ready for it."

"Haymitch has informed me that he is concerned that not rescuing Peeta will leave Katniss... not up to par with the standards necessary for her performance."

"I would expect so."

"Good, then you understand how important it is for you to be healthy right now, yes?"

"Mhm."

"Well..." she waves Finnick over, and he comes to sit beside me. "I need you both to understand something about District Thirteen. They are innovators, and have always been innovators. They survived and they have technological advancements much like those in the Capitol. Currently, there aren't as many children in District Thirteen, and thus experimental procedures have been created to ensure healthier future children, which involved a lot of experimentation on pregnant mothers and their unborn children."

"Hold up," Finnick says immediately. "Time out. Are you saying Morgan and our baby are going to have to be test subjects?"

"Not necessarily. The thing is, many of these experiments have been shown to work. There is always a risk with doing anything of this magnitude, but you need to be aware of what District Thirteen prides themself on. And that's success. Right now, the President is working very hard with Haymitch and Plutarch to develop a proper plan for all of this, though as I stated previously, there may be a problem with Katniss not being in a good condition for it to be carried out immediately. So in order for this to be successful, it may be necessary for your pregnancy to be sped up, Morgan. Now, before you say anything, remember I mentioned success. These tests have proved successful and you have nothing to really worry about. You just need to be ready for the President to ask you to make this sacrifice in order for you to be physically ready to step in as the Mockingjay if Katniss is not willing. She will not want to risk your baby dying over you performing as the Mockingjay or even helping Katniss. You understand that, right?"

"Yes," I say, trying to remain calm. "But speed up my pregnancy—"

"It cannot be done at the moment, so don't you worry. The baby must be at least one month along for it to work, therefore you shouldn't worry too much about it right now. But yes, speeding it up."

"How— how does that work?" Finnick asks, his eyebrows furrowed. "How do you just— speed up something so natural?"

"It's a painful process— for Morgan especially. But basically what happens is that special medication that contains hormones necessary for a baby to develop are injected, controlled, and monitored over the course of a week. Thus, your baby would grow in a day what it would in a month. Therefore, within eight days you would have a baby that you normally wouldn't see in another eight months. As mentioned, there is a risk as Morgan's body is very unique and first she will need to be tested for allergies to the medication. But the mothers who ran this trial were fine after that week, though definitely tired. And their babies were okay as well, and have been developing nicely. It doesn't alter the baby's system in any way, it just makes its time spend in the womb a lot less. Do you understand?"

I look at Finnick. "I... I don't know."

"It could work, Morgan," Finnick mumbles. "And I'd personally feel a lot better if we were both fighting with the baby already born."

"Yes but Finnick that's not natural... it could... I don't know, backfire."

"Look, I know we would appreciate the months of preparation but she's right, you need to be ready and I wouldn't like the idea of you going out to do whatever you need to do with that baby still inside you."

I bite my lip. "I have time to think about it, right?" I ask the doctor. "Because— it isn't confirmed if I have to be the Mockingjay and plus, I'm barely a week along."

"Yes. You have a lot of time. Of course, it's also important you make the decision soon once you reach the one month mark. Judging by your vitals, you have a very bipolar system."

"What does that mean?" I mutter, feeling somewhat offended, but mostly confused.

"Your nausea developed quickly, from what Plutarch reported to me. Your hormones have been very screwed up by the birth control you were mandated, and you were ovulating very near your cycle when the baby was conceived. Judging from the information Plutarch gave me from the Capitol doctors— the conception was speedy. This is likely because of your hormones and well, going biologically, the process was sped up by shortening the pathway."

I blush. "So you mean that uh.... Finnick and his very specifically sized friend must have been really in there when... yeah, so I got pregnant way faster than I would have with someone else?"

"Exactly. Of course this is a very rare occurrence, so you're about one in a million for couples that managed this so damn quickly."

Finnick blushes, looking a bit prouder than I would think him to be. I elbow him and he just laughs.

"It's a compliment," he whines.

"Hush," I say, trying not to laugh.

"The point is your system reacted very quickly when you became pregnant and it threw your hormones out of the loop. Because it's been fluctuating to adjust itself after the birth control, that's why I dubbed it as bipolar. It seems based on the monitor that you go through these periods of high heart rate and then it lowers, which is a bit abnormal but nothing to be worried about. Again, we will run more tests when we arrive, and likely will be able to take a peek at your little one. Everything good now? No other questions?"

"Not right now," I say.

"Okay," she says, getting up. "Morgan, you are clear to go eat, so Finnick you may take her there. Please return to this room to sleep, as we have your medicines at the ready in case anything goes haywire."

She leaves and Finnick starts to laugh again, covering his face.

"It's— not— funny—" I giggle, smacking him lightly.

"Yes it is! It's hilarious! Wow, that's the biggest praise I've ever received for my—"

"Shush! You're so ridiculous— come on, please take me to eat."

"Can we tell everyone? Please?"

"No!"

Finally, once we've both stopped cackling, Finnick helps me change into some comfortable pajama like clothes, then leads me through a hallway into a room where it seems Haymitch and Plutarch have just sat down to eat, but really they're not even touching their food.

"Ah, Miss Reeves," Plutarch says happily. "All good?"

"Yes," I say, elbowing Finnick so he won't share the information I know he wants to.

Finnick smirks and I roll my eyes as we sit down.

"Is uh, Beetee not up yet?" Finnick asks, trying to contain his laughter.

"Not yet," Haymitch says. "He and Katniss are still in the other room."

Finnick suddenly snorts and puts his head on the table, and I awkwardly pat his back as I load myself a plate.

"Is he okay?" Plutarch chuckles, the laughter clearly contagious.

"He hasn't really been able to stop laughing since something the doctor told us," I say, trying not to follow Finnick's lead.

"It's... so... funny!" Finnick gasps, pounding his fist against the table. "I mean— it was so— random!"

He falls into another laughing fit and I tug at his hair. "Calm your shit, Finnick," I urge. "Please..."

"Do tell us, we need some humor," Haymitch says. Even his lips are twitching like he wants to laugh.

"Finnick no—"

"The doctor said Morgan got pregnant faster because of how big I am and how deep I was."

I face palm as the men start to laugh. "Finnick I swear I'll kill you."

Once they've calmed down after Finnick very precisely explains how this has any biological significance, I manage to keep eating without choking on my food.

Finnick moves nearer to me and eats with his left hand to put his right one on my thigh, which makes me blush.

"Alright," Plutarch says, straightening up. "Now that we've all calmed down and are all fairly together, we need to talk. Communications are down in Seven, Ten, and Twelve. But Eleven has control of transportation now, so there's at least a hope of getting some food out."

Seconds later the door is thrown open, and Katniss stumbles in, holding a syringe in her hand, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks her, sitting up. She careens forward and he steps up to catch her wrists. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans."

Katniss stares at him strangely and he orders her to drop it, then pushes her in a chair beside me.

I push a bowl in front of her. "Please eat," I say.

She shakes her head.

"Katniss, I'm going to explain what happened," Haymitch says, sitting across from her. "I don't want you to ask any questions until I'm through. Do you understand?"

Katniss nods numbly.

Haymitch explains how he contacted us Victors about the plan to break Katniss and Peeta out of the arena pretty much the moment the Quell was announced. He tells her about how Plutarch Heavensbee has been, for several years now, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol. He tells her about our meeting, and how our weapons were ensured to be in the mix. He also mentions he made sure the wire was among the weapons. Beetee was in charge of blowing the hole in the force field. The bread was the code for the rescue day. He tells her how Finnick and I were meant to be together solely so that it would make sense for Finnick to ally with her, but that it worked better than expected as Finnick and I actually fell for each other.

He tells Katniss the hovercraft belongs to District Thirteen, and that we are currently on a very roundabout journey to District Thirteen. Meanwhile, most districts in Panem are in full scale rebellion.

Katniss stares blankly at the table, looking impressed, surprised, betrayed, relieved, and angry.

"You didn't tell me," she mumbles in a ragged voice.

"Neither you nor Peeta were told. We couldn't risk it," Plutarch says. "I was even worried you might mention my indiscretion with the watch during the Games." He pulls out his pocket watch and runs his thumb across the crystal, lighting up a mockingjay. "Of course, when I showed you this, I was merely tipping you off about the arena. As your mentor. I thought it might be a first step toward gaining your trust. I never dreamed you'd be a tribute again."

"I still don't understand why Peeta and I weren't let in on the plan," Katniss says.

"Because once the force field blew, you'd be the first ones they'd try to capture, and the less you knew, the better," Haymitch says.

"The first ones? Why?"

I feel awful for her. She's very confused.

"For the same reason the rest of us agreed to die to keep you alive," Finnick says.

"No," Katniss says, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. "You tried to kill me."

"I knocked you out to remove your tracker and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you," I say. She looks even more confused.

"We had to save you because you're the mockingjay, Katniss," Plutarch says. "While you live, the revolution lives."

It all finally seems to sink into her.

"Peeta," she whispers suddenly.

"The others made sure they kept Peeta alive because if he died, we knew there'd be no keeping you in an alliance," Haymitch says. "And we couldn't risk leaving you unprotected."

"Where is Peeta?" Katniss hisses at him.

"He was picked up by the Capitol," Haymitch says, looking down.

Katniss very suddenly lunges across the table and rakes her fingernails down Haymitch's face, which causes blood to flow and damage to one of his eyes. They're both screaming awful things to each other. I yank Katniss off of him, and Finnick pulls Haymitch to safety.

Katniss whirls around to slap me and she kicks me away, making me cry out in pain. "FUCK YOU!" She screams, hitting me and pinning me onto the ground. "FUCK YOU— GIVING MORE SHITS ABOUT YOURSELF THAN HIM!"

"I TRIED, KATNISS!" I scream as I try to get her off me. "I DID— I SWEAR—"

"NO YOU DIDN'T!"

Finnick lunges forward and throws her off of me before pinning her on the table and tying her wrists down. Katniss growls and slams her head in fury again and again against the table. They inject her and she sobs, slowly beginning to go unconscious.

Finnick runs to help me up, and I gulp, slowly getting up. "Morgan— Morgan are you hurt?" He asks, eyes wide.

"N-No— I don't think so," I choke, my chest rising and falling rapidly from the shock. I can feel my heart beating at a million miles per hour. My hands are shaking and I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack or something.

Finnick quickly grabs my unfinished bowl of food and picks me up before beginning to carry me back to my room.

"Finnick— Finnick— she's not okay— this isn't good— she's going to not want to be the Mockingjay!" I cry.

"Shh— shh... calm down, calm down. It's going to be okay."

"No... no... they're going to make me have our baby early— no—"

"Morgan, breathe— breathe."

I hear him open the door to my room, but I don't look because I'm too busy burying my face in his chest. "Finnick please— please don't let them take our—"

"Who are you?"

I stop, and slowly look up at Finnick.

He's staring straight ahead at something, and he looks very protective.

"I'm not here to hurt either of you," a very familiar voice says. "Especially not her— uh... your... baby. I promise."

I slowly turn, and I almost fall out of Finnick's arms from the shock.

"You're joking," I say hoarsely, my entire body going rigid. "You— you—"

"Hello Morgan," Misha says, a weak smile on his very scarred, but still very recognizable face. "It's nice to see you again."


	30. Chapter 30

It's been a month since we arrived in District Thirteen.

Today, Katniss was allowed to go into District Twelve, which was destroyed after what happened in the arena. Apparently her friend Gale was the one who managed to get several people out, and they ended up in Thirteen.

I think it'll be good for her to see her old District— to remind her of what's at stake and why we need to fight. I appreciate it because it means I can relax instead of being forced to undergo the procedure I was told about. I watched a mother go through it last week. Her husband had to leave the room because he couldn't handle how much pain she was in, and he kept breaking down.

Either way, I wouldn't want to be in Katniss's shoes even if the baby wasn't involve. All I can hear is people talking at her, and sometimes at me. Plutarch is a big talker. His calculating assistant, Fulvia Cardew, who I despised for the longest time, is a massive talker. A mishmash of district leaders and military officials always have a lot to say.

The one who isn't a big talker is Alma Coin, the President of Thirteen. I've confided in Finnick that she's like a female Snow without the majority of his psychopathic tendencies. I don't tryst her. She just watches, and watches, never saying anything directly to Katniss or to me, or even Finnick. She's fifty or so, with gray hair that falls in an unbroken sheet to her shoulders. Her eyes are gray unlike any I've ever seen— so pale, like the color has been sucked out of them. The color of slush you wish would melt away.

They're all insistent on Katniss taking on the role they designed for her, which would thus fall on me if she's either incompetent or uncooperative. The symbol of the revolution. The Mockingjay. They want her to now become an actual leader, the face, the voice, the embodiment of the revolution. The person who the districts— most of which are now openly at war with the Capitol— can count on to blaze the path to victory. I won't have to do it alone. They have a whole team of people to do her makeup, her speeches, her dresses— and all she's expected to do is play her part.

But poor Katniss is overwhelmed. I can see how distracted she is during meetings. She tells me that sometimes she tries to decide if Coin is wearing a wig. Other times she just leaves.

I don't have that luxury. Plutarch is insistent on keeping me there, and I must always be at the ready to assume her position.

It's stressful.

So anyway, Katniss should hopefully be feeling better now. Let's hope.

District Thirteen. That's one I never ever thought I'd get to see. It is nowhere near looking like how the Capitol shows it on television. In the seventy five years since the Dark Days— when Thirteen was said to have been obliterated in the war between the Capitol and the districts— almost all new construction has been beneath the earth's surface. There was already a substantial underground facility here, developed over centuries to be either a clandestine refuge for government leaders in time of war or a last resort for humanity if life above became unlivable. Most important for the people of Thirteen, it was the center of the capitals nuclear weapons development program. During the Dark Days, the rebels in Thirteen wrested control from the government forces, trained their nuclear missiles on the Capitol, and then struck a bargain: they would play dead in exchange for being left alone. The Capitol had another nuclear arsenal out West, but it couldn't attack Thirteen without certain retaliation. It was forced to accept Thirteen's deal. The Capitol demolish the visible remains of the district and cut off al access from the outside. Perhaps the Capitol's leaders thought that, without help, Thirteen would die off on its own. It almost did a few times, but it always managed to pull through due to strict sharing of resources, strenuous discipline, and constant vigilance against any further attacks from the Capitol.

Now the citizens live almost exclusively underground. You can go outside for exercise and sunlight but only at very specific times in your schedule. You can't miss your schedule. Every morning, you're supposed to stick your right arm in this contraption in the wall. It tattoos the smooth inside of your forearm with your schedule for the day in a sickly purple ink. 7:00–Breakfast. 7:30–Kitchen Duties. 8:30–Education Center, Room 17. And so on. The ink is indelible until 22:00–Bathing, or as I like to call it, Finnick and I's Adventures. (No, nothing weird, we just relax together in the bathtub and pretend we're on a quest in District Four, sometimes going to find lost cities of silver and such. It's a lot of imagining, and I find it keeps Finnick happy and optimistic, which has been difficult for him lately). Anyways, bathtime is when whatever keeps the ink water resistant breaks down, and the whole schedule rinses away. The lights out at 22:30 usually cut our adventure short, and signal that everyone not on the night shift should be in bed.

Initially when we arrived and were forced into the hospital, we could forgo being imprinted. But I got out on the second day there because they said our baby was fine and I didn't need more than a prenatal vitamin everyday, and Finnick was out on day three, though he still gets in some depressed moods once a week where I purposely ignore my schedule to spend the day holding him, stroking his hair, and reminding him that everything is going to be okay. I know he's trying so hard to stay strong but even that's a lot. And he's always there to hold me when I start to feel anxious about seeing Johanna and Peeta again, so I must repay the favor.

"Hey."

I look up at Finnick from the bracelet I'm weaving while laying on his lap.

Finnick and I are currently in our compartment for 18:00– Reflection, both having snuck an activity in. Finnick has a book on nuclear weapons and I have a plentiful amount of string to use up.

"Hey," I say, smiling.

"Have you spoken to Misha since...?"

I shake my head.

Misha. He's so different, but still the same, if that makes any sense.

Misha was immediately jealous when he learned all the information there was about Finnick— I could tell from the way he spoke.  
  


_"So you two, huh?" He says at last once Finnick and I have sat down on my bed after seeing him for the first time. This makes Finnick put his arm around me. Misha snorts. "I'm not taking her from you. Might've if you didn't have a baby involved. How the hell did that happen?"_

"It's not your business," Finnick mutters defensively, clearly not liking him already. I've never really discussed what type of person Misha was, because it didn't seem relevant. Clearly Finnick was not ready for Misha to be like a nicer version of Gloss.

Misha's eyes flicker mischievously. "Oh it is. I was the first one to ever show Morgan what a man felt like."

The comment takes me aback. Misha's always been one to make snarky comments to people he finds threatening. He always used to snarl things at our manager at the mill, but he was such a good worker he couldn't be fired, just given less hours so he wouldn't get as much pay.

"Misha, don't you dare," I snarl, putting my hand over Finnick's chest to stop him from launching himself at Misha.

"What, you hate me now, Morgan?" Misha asks playfully. He still has the devilish, playboy look in his eyes. The innocence he had in him is completely gone.

Something changed him...

"You've always been like this— so damn territorial— you can't have another man near both of us at the same time. It stops now."

Misha rolls his eyes. That's the type of sassy motherfucker he's always been. Possessive. Passionate. It's part of the reason why we never got past being fuck buddies. He was too clingy, too needy. He cared about me, sure, but he was so physical and temperamental. I mean, when he said goodbye to me when I was first reaped, his biggest concern was kissing me and being angry.

"How did you survive?" I ask, noticing Misha doesn't seem very keen on talking with Finnick there.

"They put me in a separate chamber for torture. They said they were taking me to District Thirteen's site to be executed, so it could be broadcasted. Our plane crashed for some unspecified reason. I was rescued, and Thirteen took me in. Showed me your interviews and Games when I asked. I watched you kill all those people and pretend to be in love with that kid. Then I stopped hearing about you awhile, until this year."

"What have you even been doing in Thirteen?" I ask.

"I took up helping them engineer some things. It was the price to pay for their hospitality and treatment until I recovered. Didn't escape that plane unscathed. I was burned all over my legs. Not very appealing anymore." He leans forward. "What about you, princess? How'd you go from a scrawny, adorable thing to a hot piece of ass?"

"Misha stop," I say, my cheeks flaring up. He loves dirty talking in public, it's always been like a turn on for him. When I first agreed to be his fuck buddy, there were always times that he'd grab my bottom in public. We weren't supposed to be in a relationship, but he loved the risk of being caught.

We never were.

He just chuckles. "Fine then, Morgan. Tell me about yourself."

I take my time to very cautiously run through what happened to me. How Snow made me a prostitute. How I was thrown into bed with Seneca Crane and countless others. How I was taken advantage of by Gloss. I don't mention Finnick hurting me, because that'll give Misha an advantage, and I'm worried because he's already seeming to want to take up a challenge against Finnick. I tell him about beating up Silka, and being reaped again, and the plan for rebellion, and how Finnick and I were meant to pretend but we realized it hadn't been pretend for awhile. I skip over a few intimate details and imply I got pregnant, and how we're here now.

"Hmm," Misha says in a snarky tone, looking at Finnick. "Your game must be absolutely horrible if one time earned you a baby. I was with her for months and we never had accidents."

Finnick leaps up and I scream, throwing myself between them. I barely manage to stop Misha and Finnick from ripping each other's faces off.

"STOP IT!" I cry, pushing Finnick to sit down. I whirl to look at Misha. "What the hell happened to you? You— you're a bastard now! How have two years made you such a dick? You were always rude and sassy when you wanted to be but this— you're purposely trying to get under Finnick's skin! What the hell is your problem?"

Misha stands, towering over me, and he sneers. "Oh, what the hell is my problem? What the hell happened to me? THE CAPITOL FUCKING HAPPENED! THE CAPITOL FUCKING TORTURED ME FOR DEFENDING YOU! I LOST YOU AND MY ABILITY TO WALK FOR THE LONGEST TIME! AND YOU—" his voice lowers in a threatening manner. "You... you just moved on, didn't you? You're with this guy now, who hardly knows you, and you— you let him knock you up!"

"SHUT UP!" I scream. "You barely knew me for less than a year before we started— being stupid! And no one told you to attack the Peacekeepers! I blamed myself for a long time for what happened to you— for what happened to my family! That's not something you get over! That guilt— I carried it with me for a long time! In the arena with the jabberjays— I thought I could have saved you and I felt so goddamn awful! I didn't mean for any of this to happen to you, but you don't get to be mad at me for it. I went through HELL these past two years— an emotional turmoil I barely survived! Do you know how sickening it was for me to watch myself have to kill fourteen people? I—I couldn't even control myself— I was so traumatized, so hurt— so scared— I lost Griffin, I couldn't even protect him— then I was threatened into prostitution, I had to do the most sickening things with sickening people and you, you're falling apart? Do your realize you can't compare the shit we went through, Misha? I've been having so many internal struggles, so much blame— hell, when I walked into the plan I was so willing to die for the cause, I WANTED to die for the cause because I had no one left! Gretchen and Devan and Daphne and you, you were gone, and I didn't know what else to fight for. Then I— I found out I was pregnant and it gave me a will again, a will to keep fighting but it also TERRIFIED ME. I had accidentally gotten my family killed, and I still blamed myself for you being taken away— I was so terrified I'd kill this baby!"

I stop to breathe, my entire body shaking. "So you don't get to give me shit because you made a rash choice. You don't get to get mad for me finally moving on. And what's more— we weren't that serious, Misha! I always tried to pull away from you and you, you were the clingy one who wanted more! I didn't want to be fuck buddies but you persuaded me, and I did eventually comply but I never, never fell in love with you. I didn't. I loved you as a friend, as family, but you weren't my boyfriend, you weren't my soulmate. I had every right to move on from the connection we shared and you don't get to hold me against that. You don't get to waltz in here and be rude to Finnick because you're jealous. Because he was there for me in a way you never were! To you, everything was just sex, and a game, and your needs, and fun! Finnick's given me the patience, the care, the time, the support I needed because I was falling apart. Your worried about my emotional stability were SHALLOW. What mattered most to you was that I was okay enough to go to your house and sleep with you. So no, I don't understand what the hell your problem is because you have NO EXCUSE— none— for treating Finnick and especially me the way you are right now."

Misha steps back, looking furious. I'm breathing heavily, and I can practically sense that Finnick's glaring at Misha, daring him to challenge me.

"You've changed too, Morgan," Misha growls. "If that's how you feel then fine."

He storms out and slams the door, and I immediately stumble back to be beside Finnick.  
  


"Misha isn't the same person," I whisper to Finnick as I keep weaving my bracelet. "I don't trust him. I think... I think he didn't tell us everything. They did something to him, something no one must understand if they haven't picked it up yet."

"Just stay away from him," Finnick grumbles. "I don't trust him either. He could hurt you. He could try and... you know."

"I know."

I sigh and sit up, straddling Finnick's lap and pushing him to lay down. He sets his book aside and cups my face in his hands. "I know he was someone who meant a lot to you," he murmurs. "But he's a hazard."

"I know," I say. "I understand."

He half smiles and leans up to kiss me. I giggle and kiss back, leaning down and placing my hands on his chest to hold myself firm as I slip my tongue into his mouth. He lets out a soft groan as his tongue battles for a bit, then manages to pin my down, which makes me sigh.

"We have to go soon," Finnick purrs as I pull away to kiss his neck.

"No, we have more time," I whine, finding a particular spot on his collarbone that I know drives him crazy.

He lets out a soft gasp and I take it as a signal to kiss that spot harder, which makes him fasten his hands on my hips. "Morgan... time..."

"Is on our side," I whisper, slipping my hands up his neck and tangling my fingers in his hair before slamming my lips back onto his. Finnick squeaks, and it's the cutest thing ever. Sometimes he likes to be the one in control, but he's also a total softie when it comes to kisses, and he loves to be babied too, and for me to run my hands through his hair.

Of course, our kissing session is not as long as we'd like it to be.

We've just begun heading down to the dining hall for 18:30– Dinner, when the shared communicuff that Finnick and I were alloted begins to beep. It looks like an oversized watch, but it received print messages. Being granted a communicuff is a special privilege that's reserved for those important to the cause.

"We are being summoned," Finnick says very seriously, looking at me in such a way that I burst into a fit of giggles.

"What?" He asks, a grin now on his face. "We're being summoned."

"Okay, Soldier Odair."

"Okay, Solider Reeves."

This is probably about to be another relentless Mockingjay session.

We walk through the doorway of Command, and I grip Finnick's hand tight. Command is a high tech meeting/war council room complete with computerized talking walls, electronic maps showing the troop movements in various districts, and a giant rectangular table with control panels that Finnick specifically isn't allowed to touch because of how grabby he was the first time we were here.

Everyone is gathered at a television screen at the far end of the room that airs the Capitol broadcast around the clock. Plutarch turns and waves us forward, then waves at someone behind me, which I notice is Katniss and Gale slipping in. I stop Finnick and move him to a seat so I can be next to Katniss, while Gale sits on her other side.

"Hello there," Gale says kindly, shaking Finnick's hand. The two have been seeing each other a lot, and they're quickly becoming friends, who conveniently share a mutual dislike for Misha and his shenanigans.

"Hello, Gale," I say, smiling.

"How are you feeling, mama?" Gale asks.

"Good, the vitamins have been helping."

"Any word on the gender?"

"Nah they won't be able to tell for awhile."

Katniss seems a bit relieved to hear us talk so normally. "That's good," she says softly.

"How about you, how are you feeling?" I ask her.

"I'm okay," she says, half smiling.

"It was nice to see Combe trip on a wire today," Gale chuckles. "Katniss enjoyed it."

"Oh, Misha did that?" I mutter, finding the thought of him tripping on a wire very funny. I haven't heard Misha's last name in awhile. Misha Combe. I always called him Misha, but Gale never wants to give him that respect.

"Yeah, it was dumb. He's trying to be more hands-on now to get your attention."

"Hmm well he won't succeed. Until he can stop snapping at Finnick and telling people he wishes the baby was his, I won't be associating with him."

Plutarch clears his throat and we stop talking. Usually these screenings are always the same. War footage. Propaganda. Replaying the bombings of District Twelve. An ominous message from President Snow.

This time, the screen shows Caesar Flickerman, the eternal host of the Hunger Games, with his painted face and sparkly suit, preparing yo give an interview. Until the camera pulls back and I see that his guest is none other than Peeta Mellark.

A sound escapes Katniss— some combination between a gasp and a groan. She bolts up and pushes people aside until she's right in front of the screen. Finnick, Gale, and I shoot up to go stand with her. I take her hand as her eyes scan over his figure. I know she must be looking for any sign of him having been tortured, but he looks healthy. His skin is glowing, flawless, in a full body polish way. His manner's composed, serious.

So far, nothing is wrong.

But at the same time, everything is wrong.


	31. Chapter 31

Once everyone has for the most part quieted down, we all begin to pay very close attention.

Caesar settles himself more comfortably in the chair across from Peeta and gives him a long look. "So... Peeta... welcome back."

Peeta smiles slightly. "I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar."

"I confess, I did," says Caesar. "The night before the Quarter Quell... well, who ever thought we'd see you again?"

"It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure," says Peeta with a frown.

Caesar leans into him a little. "I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."

At this, Finnick squeezes my hand.

"That was it. Clear and simple." Peeta's fingers trace the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair. "But other people had plans as well.

In the silence that follows, Peeta furrows his eyebrows.

"Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena?" Caesar suggests. "Help us sort a few things out."

Peeta nods but takes his time speaking. "That last night... to tell you about that last night... well first of all you have to imagine how it felt in the arena. It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, jungle... green and alice and ticking. The giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two says, sixteen people have died— some of them defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won't be you."

Katniss's other hand slides down the screen and hangs limply at her side. I can't imagine how this makes her feel.

"Once you're in the arena, the rest of the world becomes very distant. All the people and things you loved or cares about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you're going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it's very costly."

"It costs your life," sats Caesar.

"Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people? It costs everything you are."

"Everything you are," repeats Caesar quietly.

A hush has fallen over the room, and it must be all over Panem by now. A nation leaning in towards its screens. Because no one has ever so publicly talked about what it's really like in the arena before.

Peeta goes on. "So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss. But even without knowing about the rebels, it didn't feel right. I can remember Morgan and Finnick kept giving each other these looks.... it went so far beyond being in love— they were communicating something."

I bite my lip. He noticed the looks. He must have been so confused.

"Everything was too complicated. I found myself regretting I hadn't run off with her earlier in the day, as she had suggested. But there was no getting out of it at that point."

"You were too caught up in Beetee's plan to electrify the salt lake," Caesar says.

"Too busy playing allies with the others. I should have never let them separate us!" Peeta bursts out. "That's... that's when I lost her."

"When you stayed at the lightning tree, and Katniss and Morgan Reeves took the coil of wire down to the water," Caesar clarifies.

"I didn't want to!" Peeta flushes in agitation. "But I couldn't argue with Beetee without indicating we were about to break away from the alliance. I should have realized something was wrong when Finnick wasn't freaking out over Morgan going away from him. But no, the wire was cut and everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Running into Morgan. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. Watching Enobaria and Morgan fight to the death. I know Katniss was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena... blew out."

"Katniss blew it out, Peeta. You've seen the footage."

"She didn't know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee's plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire while Finnick and Morgan abandoned her," Peeta snaps back.

"All right, it just looks suspicious," Caesar says. "As if she was part of the revel's plan all along."

Peeta's on his feet, leaning into Caesar's face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer's chair. "Really? And it was part of her plan for Morgan to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?" He's yelling now. "She didn't know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!"

Caesar places his hand on Peeta's chest in a gesture that's both self protective and conciliatory. "Okay, Peeta, I believe you."

"Okay." Peeta withdraws from Caesar, pulling back his hands, running them through his hair, mussing his carefully styled blonde curls. He slumps back in his chair, distraught.

Caesar waits a moment, studying Peeta. "What about your mentor, Haymitch Abernathy?"

Peeta's face hardens. "I don't know what Haymitch knew."

"Could he have been part of the conspiracy?" asks Caesar.

"He never mentioned it," says Peeta.

Caesar presses on. "What does your heart tell you?"

"That I shouldn't have trusted him," says Peeta. "That's all."

I haven't seen Haymitch in awhile. He's being forced into sobriety, so he's probably in seclusion until he's dried out.

Caesar pats Peeta's shoulder. "We can stop now if you want."

"Was there more to discuss?" Peeta asks wryly.

"I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you're too upset..."

"Oh, I'm not too upset to answer that." Peeta takes a deep breath and then looks straight into the camera. "I want everyone watching— whether you're on the Capitol or the rebel side— to atop for just a moment think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? And hopes that— what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?"

"I don't really... I'm not sure I'm following..." Caesar says cautiously.

"We can't fight one another, Caesar," Peeta explains. "There won't be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn't lay down their weapons— and I mean, as in very soon— it's all over, anyway."

"So... you're calling for a cease fire?" Caesar asks.

"Yes. I'm calling for a cease fire," Peeta says tiredly. "Now why don't we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?"

Caesar turns to the camera. "All right. I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming."

Music plays them out, and then there's a woman reading a list of expected shortages in the Capitol— fresh fruit, solar batteries, soap. I watch her with uncharacteristic absorption, because I know everyone will be waiting for how Katniss reacts to the interview, and that's my main concern.

Because Peeta's called for a cease fire that'll likely return everyone to their previous status or worse, and that's not good.

I can hear people around us accusing Peeta. The words traitor, liar, and enemy bounce off the walls. Katniss rips her hand off of mine and starts to walk to the door.

"You have not been dismissed, Soldier Everdeen," President Coin says immediately.

"Let her go," I say, biting my lip.

But it's no use. Of of Coin's men lays his hand on Katniss's arm, and it's clear it sends her into a panic. She immediately sprints out.

I begin to run, but Gale is already ahead of me, and Finnick holds me back. The man who tried to stop Katniss— whose name is Boggs— tries to follow her, but Gale moves forward and blocks the door, earning Boggs's elbow in his nose. Finnick and I hiss in sympathy for him.

"Soldier Hawthorne," President Coin says, standing up from her place. "Hand over your communicuff. Now."

Her voice is so commanding. Gale immediately slaps it into Boggs's hand and sprints out.

"Soldiers Odair and Reeves," she says, turning to us. "I trust you won't rush after them."

"No ma'am," Finnick says, pulling me back.

"No," I say, though more reluctantly.

"Good," she replies, turning away.

_________

In the morning, I get up to gather Finnick and I's clothes for the day.

Everyone wears the same gray pants and shirt, the shirt tucked in at the waist. It's weird to wear the same thing, but Finnick claims it's a convenient outfit because he can rip it off of me so much easier. Usually when he mentions it I laugh and remind him that he needs to hold back his primal urges for at least another month, assuming the President makes me get the procedure to pop this baby out sooner rather than later.

"Good morning," Finnick says as he kisses my cheek and gets his schedule stamped on.

"Morning, love," I say, putting my arm to get stamped. I see that 7:00–Breakfast is directly followed by 7:30–Command.

"Interesting," Finnick says. "You're going to have a super fun day."

"Mhm, let's hope it's interesting."

At the dining hall, we flash out schedules to the sensors and get out breakfast of a bowl of hot grain, a cup of mill, and a small scoop of fruits or vegetables. Today, mashed turnips. All of it comes from Thirteen's underground farms.

We sit at the table assigned for the Reeves and Odairs, which really is just us two and the baby, as well at the Everdeens and Hawthornes. I like we all get to eat together.

"Hello there," Finnick mimicks Gale's greeting from yesterday as he and Katniss sit down.

"Morning," Gale chirps. He scoops his turnips into Katniss's plate.

"You've got to stop that," Katniss says. "Really, it's probably illegal or something."

"Just because there are strict rules to prevent hoarding and shit doesn't mean you can't give others food," I say. "We share in the presence of Coin and she says nothing."

"I'm not pregnant," Gale notes.

"Good for you," Finnick says. "Even if you were, it's not like they can do anything."

"Yeah, they already took my communicuff," Gale says, high fiving Finnick.

"Maybe I should make that a condition of being the Mockingjay," Katniss muses. "That we can hunt. We'd gave to give everything to the kitchen, but we'd be free."

"Oh, so you decided?" I ask a bit hopefully.

"Yes," she says.

"Do it," Gale urges. "You could ask for the moon and they'd have to find some way to get it."

"That's true," I agree. "Wow, good job Katniss."

"Don't get too comfy. They're still needing you. I took a peek at your arm. We both have Command next."

"Fun times," I sigh.

"I have Nuclear History class with Finnick here, next," Gale says. "Your absence has been noted, Katniss."

"I don't blame her, I can't stay awake there," I say. "What with Misha making faces at me and all the talking..."

"Mm, maybe we should bully him today," Gale teases, nudging Finnick. "Glue his butt to the seat."

"I would very much enjoy that," Finnick says with his peppy grin.

"Hey," I say. "Don't."

"Party pooper," Finnick whines.

"Okay, baby."

"You're the baby."

"I'm carrying the baby."

"Okay, Soldier Odair."

"Okay, Soldier Reeves."

"Please get married already," Gale says. He then turns to Katniss. "You know, you better put Buttercup on your list of demands, too. I don't think the concept of useless pets is well known here."

"Oh, they'll find him a job," Katniss says. "Tattoo it on his paw every morning. Gale, can you come with?"

He nods, and Finnick almost looks sad to have to miss his buddy in class.

When we finish, I kiss Finnick goodbye and follow Katniss and Gale to Command. By the time we arrive, Plutarch and all their people have already assembled. Some look confused as to why Gale is there. Katniss asks for a piece of paper and a pencil right off. Her sudden interest in the proceedings takes everyone by surprise.

She begins to scribble some things, and I maintain my composure. Gale stands behind us motionless.

Plutarch gives a discreet cough. "About done there?"

"Yeah," Katniss says. "Yeah, so this is the deal. I'll be your Mockingjay."

I give her an encouraging pat on the back as Coin sits up.

"But I have some conditions." She smooths out the paper. "My family gets to keep our cat."

This sets off a tiny argument. The Capitol revels are fine with it but those from Thirteen have a problem. Finally, it's worked out that Katniss's family will be moved to the top level, which has the luxury of an eight inch window aboveground. Buttercup may come and go to do his business. He will be expected to feed himself. If he misses curfew, he will be locked out. If he causes any security problems, he'll be shot immediately.

"I want to hunt. With Gale. Out in the woods," Katniss continues.

"We won't go far," Gale adds quickly. "We'll use our own bows. You can have the meat for the kitchen."

Katniss adds on even quicker. "It's just... I can't breathe shut up here like a... I would get better, faster, if... I could hunt."

"Please," I add. "I'll vouch for them. They need it."

Plutarch begins to explain the drawbacks despite my input, but Coin cuts them off. "No, let them. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter mile radius. With communication units and tracker anklets. What's next?"

"Gale. I'll need him with me to do this," Katniss says.

"With you how? Off camera? By your side? Do you want him presented as your new lover?" Coin asks.

The malice she adds to it ticks me off. "On the contrary, Madam President, I think the current romance is fine," I say coldly. "If she defects from Peeta, the audience will lose their sympathy. They're under the impression that she's pregnant with his child."

"Agreed," Coin replies shortly. "So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right? Will that be sufficient?"

"We can always work him in as your cousin," Fulvia suggests.

"We're not cousins," Katniss and Gale say in unison.

"Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances' sake on camera," Plutarch says. "Off camera, he's all yours. Anything else?"

I can sense this comment really ticks Katniss off, but she says nothing in response.

"When the war is over, if we've won, Peeta will be pardoned," she says at last.

Dead silence. I can feel Gale tense behind her. She must not have told him before this.

"No form of punishment will be inflicted," she adds. "The same goes for the captured mentor— Johanna Mason."

I feel relaxed, and I bite my lip. "Annie Cresta too," I say. "She's the most innocent."

"No," Coin says immediately.

"Yes," Katniss shoots back. "It's not your fault you abandoned them in the arena, especially not Johanna who went in for Peeta. And Annie knew nothing this entire time, Morgan and Finnick made that very clear to me. Who knows what the Capitol's doing to them?"

"They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit," Coin snaps.

"They'll be granted immunity!" Katniss rises from her chair, her voice full and resonant. "You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded got future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety or I will hand it off to Morgan right here and right now! And I know that she too, will refuse without these conditions. Do this, or you'll find yourself another Mockingjay!"

Her words hang in the air for a long moment. Is it too soon for me to clap? I loved that. Everybody loved that.

"That's her!" I hear Fulvia hiss to Plutarch. "Right there. With the costume, gunfire in the background, just a hint of smoke."

"Yes, that's what we want," Plutarch says under his breath. "What do you say, President? You could issue an official pardon, given the circumstances. The boy... he's not even of age."

"All right," Coin says finally. "But you'd better perform."

"I'll perform when you've made the announcement," Katniss says.

"Call a national security assembly during Reflection today," Coin orders. "I'll make the announcement then. Is there anything else on your list, Katniss?"

"Just one more. I kill Snow."

Coin's lips curl into a smile. "When the time comes, I'll flip you for it."

"Fair enough," Katniss mutters.

Coin's eyes flicker to the clock. "I'll leave her in your hands then, Plutarch. Soldier Reeves, walk with me."

I uncertainly stand, and follow her out into the hall.

"You're just as fiery as her," Coin muses as we begin to walk. "But you're much more controlled. Less prone to unpredictability and outbursts."

I feel my skin crawl. She reminds me far too much of Snow.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"I'm glad you see that as a compliment. As I'm sure you've been told, you are quite eligible for a procedure. It's almost a necessity that you get this done, as you are our backup Mockingjay."

"So I have heard," I reply. "Is there no other way?"

"I'm afraid not. Even if you are not the main Mockingjay, you are still a symbol, and we still require you to fight. You are much more appealing as a fighter to me than Soldier Everdeen. I have seen you train. You and Soldier Odair have an unmatched precision and talent especially working together. Having you both on the field will be nice, and being held back by a child is not desirable. Sacrifices, as you have come to understand, need to be made. It is unfortunate you find yourself in this situation, but I can't pretend to sympathize. That girl is unpredictable. And you are one of those who help keep her in check. I am not saying you need the procedure done this very moment, but keep it in mind. Soon, Soldier. Soon. I'd go get the check today, to make sure it is even worth it."

"Excuse me?" I say, blinking.

"You will want to check that your child isn't damaged. If it is, your best option would be to terminate. Go and do that now."

I grit my teeth and move away from her. I wouldn't terminate even if I did know the baby had a defect. It's still my baby.

Without thinking to talk to Finnick, I take the long path down to the hospital where I spent my first day. I walk in and it's like they already know what I'm there for. I'm sure Coin must have had it communicated to them.

I am taken into an examination room and laid down on the table. A few doctors come in and bring in what I assume to be an ultrasound machine.

"The President is just concerned for your emotional state if the baby happens to be hurt," one says as soothingly as they must be able to.

"Sure," I say dismissively. I find I don't have a lot of respect for the doctors here— they remind me too much of those from the Capitol. They try to calm you down but the way they word things and try to sugarcoat everything just makes you nervous of what they're really thinking. I'd rather be told things straight up.

A cold gel is slathered over my stomach, just below my belly button. I feel some pressure as a wand is placed over it and moved around. I can't see the screen, but I can hear a faint beeping. I don't know if that means anything, or it's just the sound the machine is meant to make.

"Hmm," the doctor says suddenly. "You're at six weeks, yes?"

"Yes." I answer immediately. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Wait a moment please," she says, moving the wand around.

"Is something the matter?" I can't stop myself from asking questions, I need to know.

"Please, remain calm."

"That doesn't make me feel any better!"

The doctor ignores my comment. "Your last checkup was the day you arrived, yes?"

"Yes but what does it have to do with anything?"

The doctor takes her time to remove the wand from my belly and clean the gel.

"Tell me already!" I cry, feeling furious. "You're making it seem like something is wrong! Tell me!"

The doctor sighs. "Please, wait a moment. We must go call in Finnick."

She leaves and I cry out in frustration, kicking my legs on the bed. I let out another rageful shriek and kick again, which I instantly regret because my heel collides with the board at the edge of the bed.

It seems like an eternity passes before Finnick comes in, looking very worried.

"They won't tell me what's going on with our baby!" I cry, actual tears now running down my cheeks. "Finnick, Finnick, make them say something!"

"We need to know," he says immediately as the doctor holds her clipboard to her chest. "Stop keeping secrets from us."

The woman readjusts her glasses and I want to throw myself at her and beat her. Why is she taking so long to say something?

"There is something in the pregnancy that will pose a problem with the procedure. It most likely can still be done, but it's never happened before, and it hasn't exactly been tested. I'm sure the President will do everything in her power to make sure all the resources are used to make it go smoothly, but—"

"Goddamnit, say it already!" I cry, holding my temples. My head feels like it's going to explode.

The doctor flinches but clears her throat. "Morgan and Finnick. Nothing is essentially wrong. I just want to know, did anyone tell you that you were expecting twins?"


	32. Chapter 32

"Do these look like the faces of people who knew they were having twins?" Finnick squeaks once the shock has finally settled over us.

Twins. Not one baby, but two babies. I assume that the doctor wondered if I was at six weeks because of how small the figure appeared in the scan, but after moving the wand across my belly, realized it was like that because it was sharing a space with its little sibling. Sibling. The idea of my child— well, _children_ — having siblings right from the start is unbelievable. I remember clearly how anxious the wait was for Gretchen's birth, and how crazy it was to help pregnant women in my district plan everything. Now, I was jumping straight to two children without a lick of experience.

"I take that as a no," the doctor says at long last, her eyebrows raised as she looks between us. "I'm afraid that it was indeed too early to tell, even with our advanced machines."

"So— what does this mean for the procedure?" I ask frantically. It's the only thing on my mind right now. "You said— it hasn't been done."

"Not on a mother pregnant with twins, no. A few adjustments can be made for certain. It takes more calculation because two babies are sharing the space, and it's imperative that one, we don't stretch you out too much, and two, we don't overgrow the twins. They both go hand in hand anyway, so it's important neither variable is miscalculated. You see, twins are typically smaller at birth than a singular baby, and that's understandable. And they may also be born earlier, therefore it's a matter of timing that while noting their development through the procedure to make an estimate. Thus, this procedure needs to be monitored and carried out very exactly so we don't have you medicated for their growth when they're already ready to be born."

There is a long pause, and a moment of silence passes between us all as Finnick and I ponder on what she's telling us.

Risk. That's what I am overall perceiving. Risk. It's a risk to even try this when it has never been tested. But even that, that may not even help. My body is different— bipolar, as they made it seem before. My babies are different, perhaps even from each other, in their developmental paths. What's to say all three of us will react as needed? It's a tremendous risk to even attempt this on anyone else, let alone me. I must sound selfish, but these are my children. Perhaps Finnick can eventually overcome losing me if it comes to that. But if we lost our children, I don't think either of us could recover from it. What's almost worse, children raised in a broken family.

Finally, I am able to find my voice. I decide it's likely best if I gear the conversation a bit away from the actual procedure. "Okay," I manage, gulping a bit. "So ah... what... what more can you tell us about the twins?"

The doctor's face relaxes visibly. I can tell she's as relieved to steer away from the other conversation as I am. She clears her throat before coming to sit at the foot of my bed. "They're in different sacs, from what we can see, therefore you're having fraternal twins."

Finnick lets out a loud whoop and I cover my face, knowing exactly what he's thinking. I can't believe he's getting yet another compliment on his sexual performance; it's absurd. "I scored two?" He yells proudly, which probably leaves the whole hospital wing aware of what's going on.

"Yes, Finnick, that's what it means," I reply tiredly, trying for the sake of the doctor to remain serious, even though I know its futile thanks to Finnick's happy little outburst especially.

Finnick pumps his fist in the air and I yank him down hard to sit next to me.

The doctor's lips twitch into a small smile. Some part of her definitely has to appreciate Finnick's humorous addition to the conversation. He'd already left it written on record that he had managed to impregnate me rapidly thanks to his, you know, and I can only assume she read the notes thoroughly enough and knows exactly why he's so elated at the moment.

But even she knows that this is still a very serious conversation, even when we are no longer discussing the pain I will have to undergo to possibly— _maybe_ — give birth to healthy twins.

"This is less risky than it might've been with identical twins," the doctor says, deciding that she should still tie this with the procedure to give me what I can only assume she intends as an uplift. I still find it stressful. "We can monitor each sac separately, and that's better. With identical twins sharing a sac, it would be very risky for us to monitor it because the twins would need to be growing at the same rate and all that."

I just nod, holding tight to Finnick's hand to stop him from saying anything else. Now is not the time, because since my attention has been geared back to the procedure, I want him to calm himself enough so the doctor does not have to repeat herself if anything important comes up.

"Wait," he says, and I squeeze his hand even harder so he keeps himself in check. "Ow, Morgan, I'm not asking a stupid question— I want to know, is it possible for one to be born like a day before the other with this procedure?"

"Most likely not, that would put the other twin in distress and it'd be imperative they're born basically within the same twenty hours, from my estimations."

"Alright," Finnick states, satisfied with the information.

The door opens and I flinch, only to see President Coin is joining us in the room.

Her eyes are emotionless, but I can see from how her forehead creases, that she is well aware of what my situation now is.

"Vivi," she tells the doctor, crossing her arms. "How long?"

"How long until what?" Finnick and I ask in unison.

The doctor (Vivi, I guess I should call her) does not answer us. "A few days, Madam President. We need to start this soon before the twins start to develop too much and it becomes more dangerous. We could accidentally cut off an important fetal development and leave them permanent damage. Ideally, I would like to start the day after tomorrow."

Coin is about to answer, but I cut her off. "Excuse me? You're not even going to test this on someone else? I'm expected to be your guinea pig right away?"

"You know as well as I do that we'd hardly have time to spare even if you were having a singular baby, Soldier Reeves," Coin says firmly. "This procedure needs to be started immediately." She turned to Vivi. "Begin her on the round of prenatal vitamins to prepare her body to comply with our techniques. For now, bed rest and light food, to test for reactions to medication and determine the proper speed. I expect calculations for her process to be done swiftly. If possible, I would like to speed it up even a tad more. This procedure must be completed by mid next week, the latest. If it is not, Soldiers Reeves and Odair will have to say goodbye to their children."

My mouth drops open in fury, and shock, but by the time I want to retort, the President is gone, and Vivi injects a serum into me without so much as a warning. It emits a sharp hiss from me with the piercing of the needle, but even then I can hardly speak.

It's only when Vivi leaves that Finnick allows a low growl to escape him. "Bastards," he mutters. He looks at me and touches my cheek. "Hey. Look at me."

I look up reluctantly, and he tilts my head enough to press a soft kiss on my forehead. "It's going to be okay. I promise. You... and our babies..."

When I see tears in his eyes, I flinch, until he smiles and I realize they are tears of joy. "We're having twins," he whispers. "We're having twins."

He pulls me in for a tight hug, and I feel myself relaxing. All my worries seem to fade away for that one moment, and I just think about the fact that two years ago, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. And now, although everything is scary and unpredictable, I am safe with Finnick, and we'll likely be parents in a matter of days.

_In a matter of days...._

___________

When we return to our compartment, we find that 18:00– Reflection, has turned into the time for the assembly. As we walk out to the Collective, which is a huge room that easily holds thousands of people, Finnick holds my hand tightly, and massages the back of my hand soothingly. He whispers in my ear that he loves me, and I find it in myself to smile. I lean on him and say it back just as quietly, which makes him kiss my head again.

I always feel safe with him.

We go down into the pit that is meant to hold the listeners from District Thirteen and Twelve alike. From the corner of my eye, I see Misha standing with his arms crossed next to a woman I don't recognize.

I frown as he turns to me, and I see his eyes flash with malice. Some part of me thinks that perhaps the Misha I knew is still somewhere in the empty, angry shell of a person that stands across the room. But even then I consider that everything is different now, and Misha Combe is a different character here in Thirteen. As much as he retained the snarky comments and his flirty nature, I remember the heated conversation on the hovercraft where he nearly attacked Finnick, and I find myself shivering. Something is entirely wrong with him, and no one's really noticed. There isn't a soul here who knew him before he arrived in his beaten and scarred state. I'm the only person who knew the Misha Combe who existed in Seven and used to climb trees with me and tickle my sister and share jokes with my brother. And that unnerves me more, because I know something happened, and so far no one's helped him because no one's been able to compare this self with his past self. I feel compelled to say or do something, to help him.

But I won't. I want to help him because I know something is terribly wrong with him, some part of him didn't heal ever. However, until he can be near me for more than an hour without snarling to Finnick about how he got me first and how he wishes my baby— now babies— were his, I won't go near him. I suppose I _am_ afraid he'll hurt me and my children.

Finnick squeezes my hand and I'm snapped back into reality as Alma Coin begins her talk.

Words are another thing not wasted at all in Thirteen. Coin calls the audience to attention and tells them Katniss has consented to be the Mockingjay, provided the other victors— Peeta, Johanna, and Annie— will be granted full pardon for any damage they do to the rebel cause. In the rumbling of the crowd, I hear the dissent. I suppose no one doubted Katniss would eventually want to be the Mockingjay, but it certainly bothers them that her price (and mine, technically) had to be sparing the enemies. I can see hostile looks thrown my way and Katniss's, as she stands about ten feet diagonally to our left. But neither of us even flinch.

The president allows a few moments of unrest, and then continues in her brisk fashion. Only now the words coming out of her mouth are something I had not heard of before, and I'm certain Katniss was not aware of them either. "But in return for this unprecedented request, Soldier Everdeen and her runner-up Soldier Reeves have both promised to devote themselves to our cause. It follows that any deviance Soldier Everdeen takes from her mission, in either motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in this agreement. Should Soldier Reeves also fail, the immunity would be terminated and the fate of the three victors determined by the law of District Thirteen. As would the fate of Soldiers Everdeen and Reeves. Thank you."

I don't need to even ponder on her words, because I know her message immediately. If Katniss and I so much as put one toe out of line, we will all be dead.

_______

I sit with Katniss the following morning as her prep team, which was apparently brought here from the Capitol, scrub her down and prepare her for what is sure to be a long and tiresome day.

"Remake her to Beauty Base Zero," Fulvia orders her prep team. "We'll work from there." I sigh, thinking of my own prep team— Savera, Winnow, and Zenobia, as well as Griz and Gliese. Where are they? Will I ever see them again?

I keep Katniss company as she is rinsed. A plump woman who I recognize as one who used to dress extravagantly comes over shyly and helps dry Katniss. Her hair is a nice auburn, and she has a sweetness and youth in her face that suggests she must be my age, if not barely older. Devoid of the three inch decorative nails she has on, her fingers appear almost stubby, and they can't stop trembling. Katniss told me Coin didn't stop the poor team from being hurt. I can see the woman— Octavia— is terrified, and she keeps looking at the multicolored bruises flowering under her green skin.

Flavius, the male, still has his orange ringlets, but the purple lipstick Zenobia used to compliment is now gone. Venia, the other woman, has aqua hair that'd constantly make Savera jealous. Her tattoos are golden and shocking, and comes to take the towel from Octavia's hands.

"Katniss is not going to hurt us," she says quietly but firmly to Octavia. "Katniss did not even know we were here. Things will be better now." Octavia gives a slight nod but doesn't dare look Katniss or even me in the eye.

It's no simple job getting Katniss back to Beauty Base Zero. As she's being waxed, I grip her hand.

"How— is the baby?" She asks through gritted teeth, grunting a bit as another strip is ripped from her leg, covered in hair.

"Babies," I say simply. "Twins, apparently."

Katniss's eyes widen, and she hardly flinches when they wax the back of her thighs, probably out of shock. "Twins? Are you serious?"

"Yep. Fraternal, so it could be both of the same gender or one of each."

"Morgan, that's amazing." I have hardly ever seen Katniss give a genuine smile, but she flashes me one and I find it warms my heart. "Congrats, to you and Finnick. What's happening with the procedure?"

"Actually starts tomorrow," I say with a slight shiver.

"Really? Wow. Good luck. Hey, I am a pessimistic person and to be honest— as you well know— I have an issue with trust, especially here. But... I do think they will do everything to protect you. They need you. Badly. It'll be okay. I promise to visit."

I find myself smiling a little wider. "Thanks, Katniss. I appreciate it."

"Any ideas for names?"

"Not really. I do want to name a girl, if there is one, after Mags. And well... Finnick was sweet enough to say we could name a boy after my brother, so Devan."

"Mags Gretchen Odair, or Gretchen Mags Odair," Katniss muses thoughtfully. "Hmm. I think your sister's name could fit. What were your parents' name?"

"My father was Logan. My mother, Margaret. They named my brother after my grandfather, and well— my name is a combination of Margaret and Logan. Morgan. Funny, in a way. Gretchen was named after my mother's childhood best friend, who died in one of the mills during an explosion."

"Interesting. My father named Prim and I after plants."

"Those are still beautiful names. I really like them," I say honestly. "They are full of meaning. See, I want the babies to have names with meaning. A memory of someone who has been lost to this cause, someone Finnick and I hold dear. Initially I did think I liked Annie's name for a hypothetical girl, but Annie is still alive and I don't want it to give off the wrong idea. Also... I initially thought Annie was Finnick's lover so that's a bit weird." I shake my head. "My family always instilled the value that names aren't meant to be given to commemorate the living, rather the dead. I know many don't think that, but that's how I was taught. To me it's unfathomable to name a child directly after someone who is still alive."

"I understand that. Say, what about Devan Blight Odair? That doesn't sound half bad."

I bite my lip, considering it, then slowly smile. "Yeah... that doesn't sound half bad. I want to name him after Griffin too, though. Is there a limit to how many middle names a kid can have?"

Katniss lets out a breathy laugh as she's flipped onto her back to have her front side waxed. "I think one middle name is good enough. Perhaps Griffin can be the name of you and Finnick's next kid."

I blush at the mere idea of it. First of all, Finnick and I are already about to have two babies who were completely unplanned. Thinking of us surviving and staying together long enough to have a third child is hard to imagine, but the thought brings me comfort. "Yeah," I mumble. "Maybe for the next kid."

Once the waxing is done, the prep team transitions to Katniss's arm. The jagged scar left behind where I dug out her tracker makes even me shiver. I feel awful, because the Mockingjay costume Cinna left for her stops at the elbow. Fulvia and Plutarch are called in to discuss it, and Fulvia gags at the sight of the scar. For someone who works with a Gamemaker, she's awfully sensitive. But I suppose she's far too accustomed to seeing unpleasant things on a screen only.

"Everyone knows I have a scar there," says Katniss sullenly. I feel a great sense of guilt as she looks sideways at me.

"Knowing it and seeing it are two different things," Fulvia notes. "It's positively repulsive. Plutarch and I will think of something during lunch."

"It'll be fine," Plutarch mutters dismissively. "Maybe an armband or something."

I sense the comment angers Katniss, because she dresses and prepares to head to the dining hall.

"Hey," I say, yanking Plutarch aside. "Don't be making it worse. You both—" I look intently at Fulvia "—know exactly how all of us feel about scars and what they represent. A trauma and a pain we can never forget. Don't make her feel more disgusted at it."

Plutarch gives me a long look before trudging away, and Fulvia makes a slight squeaking sound as she follows him.

"Are they bringing your food here?" I hear Katniss asking her prep team.

"No," Venia says. "We're supposed to go to the dining hall."

"I'll show you where it is," Katniss offers. "Come on."

I trail beside her as the three oddballs of her prep team follow us. The covert glances and quiet murmurs that usually follow Katniss and I are nothing compared to the reaction brought on by the sight of Katniss's bizarre looking prep team. The gaping mouths, the finger pointing, the exclamations. All exaggerated.

"Just ignore them," I mutter. Eyes downcast, with mechanical movements, they follow Katniss and I through the line, them accepting bowls of grayish fish and okra stew and cups of water. I'm only allowed the okra stew.

I find my place beside Finnick, who puts an arm around me and kisses my cheek before sliding his hand down to rub over my belly. "Are they being good?"

"Yes," I say with a small smile. Finnick and his interactions with the twins always make me smile, especially now that we both know there's two of them in there.

Posy, Gale's adorable five-year-old sister, runs around the table to give me a hug before she starts to eat. I tickle her and she giggles. Posy then scoots along the bench to Octavia and touches her skin with a tentative finger. "You're green. Are you sick?"

"It's a fashion thing, Posy. Like wearing lipstick," Katniss tells her.

"It's meant to be pretty," whispers Octavia, tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, "I think you'd be pretty in any color."

The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. "Thank you."

"If you really want to impress Posy, you'll have to dye yourself bright pink," Gale says as he sits beside Katniss. "That's her favorite color." Posy giggles and slides back down to her mother. Gale nods at Flavius's bowl. "I wouldn't let that get cold. It doesn't improve the consistency."

Everyone gets down to eating. The stew doesn't taste bad, but there's a certain sliminess that's hard to get around. Like you have to swallow about three times for it to really go down.

Gale, who's usually not much of a talker during meals, makes an effort to keep the conversation going, asking Katniss and I questions about the makeover. Katniss told me he argued with her last night, and I bet this is his attempt at trying to smooth things over.

Before Finnick, Gale, Katniss, and I have to go see Beetee down in Special Defense, I lay my head down on the table, not satisfied with the food I was allotted. Finnick lays his head next to mine, staring straight at me.

"You okay?" He asks, his hand reaching out to caress my cheek.

"I'm okay," I whisper to him, half smiling. "Tomorrow... we'll see how it all goes, huh?"

He nods, and I hear Posy giggle.

"What are they doing?" I hear her ask her mother, still unable to contain her giggles.

The sound of her giggling makes my heart leap in my chest, and I don't hear Hazelle's answer, because all I hear is the loud thumping in my chest as blood rushes all over my body.

I can imagine what Finnick and I's potential daughter could look like, as cute as the little Hawthorne, but with Finnick's eyes definitely, and maybe my hair. The mere thought of us getting to potentially see a possible daughter be a pleasant five-year-old is enough to make me lean into Finnick's hand, and allows my smile to widen.

"I love you," I say, grabbing his hand and taking it down to press against my still flat (but not for much longer) belly. " _We_ love you."

Finnick's eyes shine, and a cute, crooked grin spreads across his features. "I love you all too."


	33. Chapter 33

After lunch, Gale, Katniss, Finnick, and I head down to Special Defense. Finnick and I leave Gale and Katniss to mutter things at each other. We pay no attention. Finnick is having a fun time coiling strands of my hair around his finger, and he makes a little 'boing' sound when he releases them. I blush because it's so silly, yet also the most comforting thing ever.

The Special Defense level is situated almost as far down as the dungeons that Katniss found her prep team in. It's a beehive of rooms full of computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges.

When we ask for Beetee, we're directed through the maze until we reach an enormous plate-glass window. Inside is a replication of a meadow, filled with real trees and flowering plants, and alive with hummingbirds. The thought of this being real pleases me. Beetee sits motionless in a wheelchair at the center of the meadow, watching a spring-green bird hover in midair as it sips nectar from a large orange blossom. His eyes follow the bird as it darts away, and he catches dight of us. He gives a friendly wave for us to join him inside.

The air is cool and breathable, opposite of the humid and moggy atmosphere I expected. From all sides comes the whir of tiny wings, sounds I recognize from long ago when we were taught the different birds.

Beetee still has the pallor of someone in convalescence, but behind those ill-fitting glasses, his eyes are alight with excitement. "Aren't they magnificent? Thirteen has been studying their aerodynamics here for years. Forward and backward flight, and speeds up to sixty miles per hour. If only I could build you wings like these, Katniss."

"Doubt I could manage them, Beetee," she laughs.

"Here one second, gone the next. Can you bring a hummingbird down with an arrow?"

"I've never tried. Not much meat on them," she replies.

"No. And you're not one to kill for sport," Beetee says. "I bet they'd be hard to shoot, though. Say, Morgan, could you nail one with a knife?"

"Possibly," I say, shrugging. "I've had practice with small fruits and stuff. But of course, they're quick, and their movements leave them better equipped to dodge."

"You could snare them maybe," Gale says. His face takes on a distant look, as if he's calculating it. "Take a net with a very fine mesh. Enclose an area and leave a mouth of a couple square feet. Bait the inside with nectar flowers. While they're feeding, snap the mouth shut. They'd fly away from the noise but only encounter the far side of the net."

"They could outsmart that," Finnick says with a shake of his head. "As tiny as it is, I have a feeling it's got more brains to it."

"Yes, they could," Beetee muses. "But Gale, you are playing on their natural instincts to flee danger. Thinking like your prey... that's where you find their vulnerabilities."

Katniss seems to want to change the subject. "Beetee, Plutarch said you had something for me. For us."

"Right. I do. Your new bow." He presses a hand control on the arm of the chair and wheels out of the room. As we follow him through the twists and turns of Special Defense, he explains about his chair. "I can walk a little now. It's just that I tire so quickly. It's easier for me to get around this way." He turns to me. "How are you, mama?"

"Nervous," I say honestly. "The procedure will start tomorrow."

"We're having twins," Finnick adds, which makes both Beetee grin. I'd only told Katniss so far, and Finnick had only told Gale and his mother, who he trusts a lot.

"Congratulations," Beetee says. As Finnick walks near him, he pats his shoulders. "I admire you. Everything you've been through and you're still present, and going to be a father. And you my dear—" he looks at me "also very strong. Your twins have a very persevering set of parents."

I can see this makes Gale frown a little, like he knows Beetee means more than just the Games. And he does. Beetee knows about Finnick and I's old jobs— the prostitution we were forced to undergo. He knows we made it when the others didn't.

Four soldiers guard the entrance to the hall marked Special Weaponry. Checking the schedules printed on our forearms is just a preliminary step. We also have fingerprint, retinal, and DNA scans, and have to step through special metal detectors. Beetee has to leave his wheelchair outside, although they provide him with another once we're through security. It feels exaggerated, but I suppose the recent influx of immigrants has made them more cautious.

At the door of the armory, we encounter a second round of identification checks— as if our DNA changed in the time it took to walk twenty yards down the hallway— and are finally allowed to enter the weapons collection.

The sight of it takes my breath away. Row upon row of firearms, launchers, explosives, armored vehicles. "Of course, the Airborne Division is housed separately," Beetee tells us. The innate part of me that is drawn to weapons is completely fascinated. Thankfully now, I don't feel much guilt after my Games and the lives I killed. Now this is a different level of weapons and a fight that's far more important.

I find myself going nearer to where a handsome array of knives and axes are laid out, specifically to be used for military combat. Finnick forbids me from touching any, and bear hugs me from behind to simultaneously hold my arms down and rub my belly.

"See, don't touch," he whispers in my ear before nipping at my neck.

"Party pooper," I whine.

"Okay, Soldier Reeves."

"Okay, Soldier Odair."

"Gale, maybe you'd like to try out a few of these," Beetee calls, which makes Finnick turn us all around. It seems since Gale will be part of Katniss's team, he might need a bow. He takes one with a scope on it.

"That looks deadly," Finnick says.

"That also doesn't seem very fair to the deer," Katniss adds.

"Wouldn't be using it on deer, would I?" Gale mutters.

"I'll be right back," Beetee says. He presses a code into a panel, and a small doorway opens. Once he disappears, Katniss turns on Gale.

"So it'd be easy for you? Using that on people?" She asks sharply.

"I didn't say that." Gale drops the bow to his side. "But if I'd had a weapon that could've stopped what I saw in Twelve... if I'd had a weapon that could have kept you out of the arena... I'd have used it."

Katniss and I (or Katniss and Finnick, I'm not sure who exactly she looks at since Finnick's head is resting on my shoulder) share a look. We can't tell him the aftermath of killing a person. How they never truly leave you...

Beetee wheels back in with a tall, black rectangular case awkwardly positioned between his footrest and his shoulder. He comes to a halt and tilts it toward Katniss. "For you."

She sets the case flat on the floor and undoes the latch along one side. The top opens on silent hinges. I gasp, because inside the case, on a bed of crushed maroon velvet, lies a stunning black bow.

"Goddamn," Finnick says, wolf whistling a bit in my ear.

Katniss lifts the bow carefully into the air to admire what appears to be exquisite balance as well as excellent design. She suddenly presses the bow to her cheek, and I can see her skin ripple as if the bow is humming or vibrating, you take your pick. "What's it doing?" She asks.

"Saying hello," explains Beetee with a grin. "It heard your voice."

"She didn't say anything," I say with furrowed eyebrows.

"I sort of gasped," Katniss says, blushing. "Does that mean it recognizes my voice?"

"Only your voice," Beetee confirms. "You see, they wanted me to design a bow based purely on looks. As part of your costume, you know? But I kept thinking, What a waste. I mean, what if you do need it sometime? As more than a fashion accessory? So I left the outside simple, and left the inside to my imagination. Best explained in practice, though. Want to try those out?"

They do. A target range has already been prepared for all of us to use. The arrows that Beetee designed are no less remarkable than the bow. Between the two, Katniss shoots with an accuracy of over one hundred yards. I'm not sure if it's her skill alone, or the effect of the bow, but I like to think it's mostly her. The variety of arrows— razor-sharp, incendiary, explosive— turn the bow into a multi-purpose weapon, and Finnick and I gasp every now and then when she takes a shot. Each one is recognizable by a distinctive colored shaft. To deactivate the bow's special properties, Katniss is told to tell it 'Good night.' Then it goes to sleep until the sound of her voice wakes it again, which I think is the best part of it.

After Katniss has her practice, I follow her to where her prep team will fix her up a bit more. Gale and Finnick stay behind with Beetee to examine more weapons. Katniss's spirits are high enough that she sits nice and patiently while they fix the costume, which now includes a bloody bandage over the scar on her arm to indicate she's been in recent combat. Venia affixes her mockingjay pin over her heart, which I think looks super cute. Katniss takes up her bow and the sheath of normal arrows that Beetee made. Then, I follow her to the soundstage, where I stand on the side for hours while makeup, lighting, and smoke levels are adjusted. I feel awful for her, and thankful this burden is not falling on me.

Eventually, the commands coming via intercom from the invisible people in the mysterious glassed-in booth become fewer and fewer. Fulvia and Plutarch spend more time studying and less time adjusting Katniss. Finally, there's a quiet on the set, and for a full five minutes we all just consider the full image of Katniss. Then Plutarch says, "I think that does it."

Katniss is beckoned over to a monitor. They play back the last few minutes of taping for her. The woman on screen, though it is still Katniss, looks almost nothing like her. Her body seems larger in stature and more opposing. She's still sexy despite a smudged face. Her brows black and drawn in an angle of defiance are intimidating. Wisps of smoke— suggesting she has either just been extinguished or is about to burst into flames— rise from her clothes.

"Unrecognizable," Finnick mutters as he comes closer to me after helping adjust lighting rigs. "Say, Katniss. They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you."

She offers him a bit of a cheeky smile, and he chuckles at her before wrapping his arms around me. I know he's getting a bit more nervous, because it's almost tome to break for dinner, and Fulvia is saying that tomorrow they'll focus on speeches and interviews and have Katniss pretend to be in rebel battles, while today they just want to shoot a small propo with one slogan.

Tomorrow. It's so close, yet so far. My own anxiety is spiking at the idea that by this time tomorrow, I will be put in a bed and not be able to walk on my own for awhile while they grow my babies inside me and keep me stable enough to keep them alive. It's scary, and I don't know if I'm ready.

"Alright!" Fulvia calls. "Now Katniss, the like is— People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!"

Finnick and I both snort, and I whirl around to bury my face in his chest, muffling the sound of my laughter. Finnick doesn't have that luxury, and his wheezing laughter rings out to the whole world.

Fulvia looks a bit indignant. I can tell by how they present it that they must have spend months, maybe years, working it out and are really proud of it. But it sounds so unnatural. It doesn't make sense for Katniss, or anyone for that matter, to say that at all. That's why it's funny, and I'm glad Finnick and I are dorky enough to laugh at it together.

Finnick and I are calm (externally, at least) by the time Fulvia gets in Katniss's face, describing a battle she's just been through, and how many comrades of hers are lying dead around her. She emphasizes the pain and necessity to rally the living, and asks her to turn to the camera and shout out the line.

Katniss is hustled back to her place, and the smoke machine kicks in. Someone calls for a quiet, and I have to squeeze Finnick's arm for him to hold back another snort that threatens to come out. The cameras start rolling, and someone yells 'Action!'

Katniss holds the bow over her head and yells with what must be all the anger she can muster, " _People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice_!"

There is dead silence on the set.

"That sounded... bad," Finnick whispers very bluntly in my ear.

No one speaks for awhile. Eventually, Fulvia makes Katniss try it again. And again. And again.

Finally, the intercom crackles and Haymitch Abernathy's acerbic laugh fills the studio. He contains himself just long enough to say, "And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies."

I can see almost immediately that Katniss's entire demeanor changes. Maybe it's the shock of hearing his voice, learning that he was not only functional but had some measure of control over her life again. Maybe it was simply remembering Haymitch as a character that no one really wanted around because of how blunt he was. Personally, I have never minded Haymitch, and I have always respected him a great deal and even praise him for crafting Katniss and Peeta the way he did and then carrying out the plan with Plutarch. But I know Katniss doesn't see or feel that, not after he lied and how she says he's always been too brutally honest and said things that make her despise him.

So she bolts out. Leaves the studio directly and refuses to acknowledge his comments.

Fulvia curses like a full sailor, and she slams down a clipboard before pulling Plutarch aside to hiss who knows what in his ear. The crews begin taking down the lighting rigs, and Haymitch steps leisurely out of the booth.

"Hey," he says, surprisingly not slurring his words. "Hear you're both expecting twins."

"Yeah, maybe we'll name one after you," Finnick says jokingly as he shakes Haymitch's hand. "Haven't seen you around."

"Isolation of course. How are you holding up, Better Mockingjay?"

"Please don't," I groan. "Listen, Haymitch, I know you pissed her off a bit but you have to help."

"What do you think I'm here for, sweetheart? I am no way in hell going to let Katniss fall back. Especially not with you next in line while still pregnant. It wouldn't work anyway, with Peeta and the citizens of Panem, who need to fight or whatever bullshit Katniss said. I'm here to help. I will."

"You know her well," Finnick muses. "And as bitter as she is, we all— including her— know that you're the one that gets shit done, that comes up with the good plans."

"The lines are dumb," I say. "Finnick and I laughed. And it's so artificial. Not only does Katniss not even look like herself, but she doesn't talk or act like herself either. How can Panem follow her if she's unrecognizable and looks like she's been fabricated into a new person by District Thirteen?"

"Very good point, mama bear," Haymitch notes as he crosses his arms. "I'll think it over. My guess is this will all have to wait til tomorrow. What time does your procedure start?"

"Five," I sigh. "Nice and early."

"Perfect. When everyone's awake, I'll herd them into your hospital room so you can both be at the meeting. I have an idea what to discuss— how to change this for the better. I just need to ponder on it a bit more."

"Sounds good to me, Haymitch," Finnick says with a nod. "We trust you. Katniss might not, but she should. She... she'll come to her senses. Thank you."

He nods, and a slack grin appears on his face. "Yeah. Well, good luck on the procedure. By the way, Morgan, there's someone wanting to talk to you outside."

"What?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

Haymitch lets out a breathy laugh. "Our esteemed President."

Coin is honestly the last person I want to see. Finnick and I shake Haymitch's hand again, before walking out to where the gray haired woman waits alone.

"It was a failure, I hear," she says without hesitation, looking intently at me. "It will take a lot of convincing for me to put any faith in that girl."

"She's overwhelmed. I would have been too," I mutter. Finnick drapes his arm protectively around my shoulder.

Her eyes follow the progression of his arm, as if his sudden move towards intimacy is unwelcome, especially in her presence. "You are both prepared for tomorrow, yes?"

"The best we can be," Finnick offers.

"That's enough," Coin says, as if she expected more preparation on our part, but isn't going to chastise us for it. "Reminder, Morgan, a light meal. Be at the hospital by 4:45 exactly. Vivi will begin the process. The other doctors will be there to monitor as well. I've also taken the liberty of assigning a special mathematician to the case in order to double check dosage amounts for the hormones and other medication."

Her extra measures catch me by surprise. "Oh. Thank you."

She doesn't say anything else. She simply nods, and walks away without another word.

"Well, shit," Finnick huffs. "That's like guilting us into this. She's making it seem like she really cares so we can under no circumstance back out."

"We wouldn't be able to anyway," I mutter. "She'd have them terminated if I refused."

Finnick cups my face in his hands and kisses me softly. "It's going to be okay. I'll be by your side the entire time. I promise."

Finnick and I eventually head back to our compartment for 22:00– Bathing. I fill the bathtub with warm water while Finnick prepares the clothes we'll wear when we finish, as well as bathrobes and towels in case we choose not to get dressed. When we're both ready, we undress. Finnick climbs in first and sits down, sighing as the water envelopes him. I climb in on top of him, and sit over, leaning back on his lap, the water hitting my collarbones. Finnick presses a kiss on my neck, and I take his hands tightly in mine.

We just sit there, not speaking, not moving, our eyes closed as we enjoy the warm water that caresses our skin, and each other's presence. It's when Finnick kisses a particularly tender spot of my jaw that my mind warps me to the day I formally met him, at my first conference.  
  


_Easily, he is the most attractive person in the room. If I were a stranger and had to pick one of these to buy from President Snow, it'd be him. He's fit, tall, with a mischievous smile and dazzling green eyes. His sandy hair looks bronze in this light, which must be its natural color. He looks vulnerable the way he stands, but powerful at the same time, and I know I'd be inclined to trust him (which I'd learn later was his goal)._

_"I'm Finnick," he says. I've never heard him speak, and immediately he strikes me as someone who should be a diplomat. Firm, reassuring, without the unrealistic peppiness in most Capitolian's voices. "This is only my sixth year doing this. I'm twenty three. I love to swim, spend time with my fellow victors, and well, eat."_

_Everyone laughs at this, even me. Even though Althea had mentioned eating as one of her likes, she didn't weave it into a comical note the way Finnick did._

_I decide that's what makes him the most popular, and perhaps the most dangerous one here._

_"We've almost gone full circle," Silka says happily. "Morgan, your turn."_

_I stand, feeling very self conscious at the moment, because I'm realizing beside Finnick, my body is the healthiest and most natural. Althea, Laurel, and Sextus have lost the healthy look, although they maintain the attractiveness a prostitute is meant to have by Snow's standards. I can see Laurel looks envious at how tan my skin is, and I realize I am the only one here with blue eyes._

_"I'm Morgan," I say, so quietly that Silka put a hand to her ear for me to speak up. "I'm Morgan," I say louder. "I just started... obviously... so I don't have a year to put out. I've just turned eighteen. I like...."_

_I don't even know what I like now. I haven't been doing much other than read and visit Mrs. Vangsenn, along with collecting a few things from my old house._

_Everything I used to like to do is no more because my family is gone._

_"I like...." but again, nothing comes to mind. I must look like a complete idiot, not knowing what to say._

_"She likes to read," Sextus says as if he's made the greatest discovery. "I know that from how she's twitching just her pointer finger. That'd be the finger she turns the page with."_

_"Or the finger she throws her knives and axes with," Laurel says bitterly. I feel my skin turn hot, and it's Finnick who saves me._

_"Leave her alone, Laurel, you have no idea what it's like to be in the Hunger Games," he says sharply. Laurel closes her mouth immediately_.  
  


"What are you thinking of, princess?"

I blush and lean further back against Finnick, slipping my body down and tilting my head back to look at him. "Princess?"

"It felt like the right thing to call you. Unless you prefer queen."

"Princess is fine," I admit, biting my lip. "I was... thinking of the day I met you at the conference. I thought you were hot. And you defended me."

"You were easily the hottest there," he purrs in my ear as he nips at my earlobe. "I remember I startled you... coming onto you and making you be scared when really I wanted to warn you."

Remembering makes me shiver. "I never thought we'd come this far."

"I don't regret it for an instant," he murmurs. "And I am so grateful that we're going to be parents. I know that it was a bit bad timing, and I apologize—"

"Finnick it's fine, we were drunk, and I had _just_ gotten off the birth control, we couldn't have—"

He starts to argue but I turn around to sit on his lap, and kiss him to shut him up. As cliché as it is, it is useful, and Finnick relaxes against me.

"I love you," he says quietly once I pull away. "And I am so blessed that you're the mother of my children. You are the best, best thing that has ever happened to me."

I smile, and kiss him again, an understanding passing between us that I feel exactly the same.

___________________

**A/N: Hey guys! Sprinting Fox here. Since the twins are coming soon, I want to hear your suggestions for names! I'm still not sure if they'll both be girls, both boys, or one of each, so your suggestions would really help make that decision easier! Thanks!**


	34. Chapter 34

I am awoken at promptly four thirty by a loud knock on the door. It is Finnick who gets up from the bed to open it, making me yearn for the warmth of his arms. But when I hear who speaks, I forget my desire for warmth.

"I have been instructed to bring Soldiers Odair and Reeves to the hospital for the procedure."

I sit up at the sound of Misha's voice, and find that Finnick has already half closed the door, allowing for me to barely see Misha past Finnick's muscular body.

"We're getting ready," Finnick replies (a bit coldly, I might add), before slamming the door in Misha's face.

"Why did they send him?" I grumble as I stand, stretching my arms above my head. "I'd have preferred Boggs or someone else."

"Me too," Finnick growls as he moves to grab us a pair of day clothes. "He makes too many snarky comments about you and our children. I hate it."

I can understand his frustration. I know Misha talks crap like he's being paid to do it. Misha simply can't seem to stop telling people that Finnick is the worst man a girl could have, that the twins should rightfully be his, and that I'm going to come back to him eventually. It's enough to drive anyone, and especially Finnick, batshit insane.

I come closer to him and wrap my arms around him from behind, placing my hands over his abs. "Stay calm. Breathe. He isn't getting me. I want you, and only you. I'm not going to abandon the father of my children for someone who doesn't have their head screwed on straight."

"I know you won't leave, Morgan. I'm not worried about that." He puts his hands over mine. As I peek around his torso, I can see how much bigger his hands are. They cover mine completely, despite the fact my hands are large for a woman and my fingers are abnormally long. He shifts his palms to hold my hands firm, his thumbs caressing the backs on both sides. "I'm scared he will hurt you. That he'll throw off the procedure just to be an asshole. That he'll come in and overwhelm you the minute he sees I'm gone because he'll know you're helpless in that bed."

I sigh and nuzzle my head into his shoulder blades, making a point to tap my nose against his spine. "I'll have guards. And I know you won't even want to leave very often. I think I'll be okay. That much I know. Don't worry."

He turns around, towering over me, and cups my face gently before pressing his lips hard against mine. The kiss symbolizes every last bit of agony and worry he feels, things that he must swallow up before the procedure begins so he can simply let science do its thing and bring us our twins sooner rather than later.

Another hard knock tells us that Misha is growing impatient outside.

"We'll be out soon, Soldier Combe," Finnick snaps harshly. He pulls away from me, and hands me my clothes before going into the bathroom and closing the door. I get dressed slowly, then when Finnick is out of the bathroom, I step in. I brush my teeth quickly and clean my face before braiding my hair on both sides. If I'm going to be forced to lay in a bed for about a week straight, I want annoying strands out of my face so I don't get the impulse to cut everything off if I get bored.

When I come out, Finnick is dressed and ready. He puts his arm around me before going to open the door. Misha is outside looking at his watch, his arms crossed. He hardly acknowledges us before beginning to walk toward the hospital. Finnick and I follow, but at a safer distance.

"It's going to be okay," Finnick murmurs, tracing his hand up and down my side as we move along. "I'm going to be there the whole time, and I will make sure to be noting everything that happens."

"I trust you," I reply, leaning my head on his shoulder.

It is then that Misha turns around, and frowns at us. "We could make it there faster if you sped up."

"Shut your mouth, Combe, we have five whole minutes and it's a two minute walk," Finnick snaps on impulse, not bothering to straighten up. While Misha is still watching, he slides his hand further down my waist and more towards my backside.

I can practically see the fire light up in Misha's eyes. "See, you wouldn't be in this situation if you knew how to stop being dirty with her in public," he growls, his eyes flashing with malice. Even when he was mad before, in District Seven, I don't think I had ever seen his eyes change like that until I saw him again. It's terrifying.

"Our business is private, thank you very much," Finnick spits, his arm tensing so his grip on me is almost painful.

"Oh yeah? Where did you guys do it then, a nice, guarded, little Capitol room, I bet? Or maybe one of your well-known prostitute rooms‒"

I let out a panicked scream as Finnick launches himself forward and punches Misha before knocking him to the ground. "FINNICK! FINNICK STOP! NO!" I jump forward and tug at his shoulders, but by then he's stopped punching and simply has Misha pinned hard against the floor.

"I am so fucking sick of you acting like you're all high and mighty, Combe," Finnick growls. Misha looks up at him fearfully, his nose with blood trickling from it. "You either shut your mouth from here on out or I will shove my trident down it to make sure you don't talk ever again. I don't want to hear you making any more dirty comments about Morgan. Do I make myself clear, or will another punch suffice?"

Misha quickly shakes his head, his eyes wide. "G-Get off me!" He hisses in a very unmanly voice. Finnick climbs off, making a point to kick Misha's leg before putting his arm back around me and leading me quickly to the hospital.

I don't say anything at first. What should I say? Yay, thanks Finnick, he deserved that! Or: goddamnit, Finnick, what if you get in trouble?!

Finnick speaks soon after, meaning I don't have to think of something to say. "Yes, I know, it was risky to get into a fight because they might punish me for it, but I am so sick of him saying shit about you‒ about us, and our kids‒ as if we won't find out. He's... I just don't like him."

"I know," I say. "Thank you. I appreciate you defending me. Defending us. Just... try not to punch him anymore. They might not be so lenient when it isn't almost five in the morning."

A small smirk plays on his lips. Soon after, we reach the hospital doors, and he throws them open. One of the nurses‒ a younger girl that reminds me of Katniss's little sister‒ leads us down a long hallway and into a room that is fairly spacious. It has completely chalk white walls, and while marble floors that almost show me my reflection from how clean they are. There is a singular bed in the center of the room, which looks decently comfortable, and has emerald green blankets on it. I suppose they must have thought making it almost in the theme of my District would bring me comfort.

"The doctors will arrive soon," the girl notes before walking out and shutting the door behind her.

I slowly sit down, seeing the clock has just hit 4:45am. I sigh and lay back, and Finnick sits in the chair beside me. It isn't even a full minute after that a team of doctors enter the room. Vivi, the one Coin seems to favor, is in the lead.

"Good morning, Morgan and Finnick," Vivi says pleasantly as she extracts a special sort of thermometer from her pocket and scans my forehead. "Temperature is good.. Bring in the machines."

I watch as all the doctors move almost as if they are synchronized. They leave the room and come back in each with a different machine in their grasp. In an orderly fashion, they plug them in, some being laid on top of each other, some standing alone. Vivi motions for me to undress, and I do, and slowly, one by one, doctors come forward and either scan me or hook me up to something. I hiss in pain as one particularly large needle it placed and positioned in my thigh. Another in my wrist. One machine has sticky pads placed all over my chest, and another has one long strip placed over my lower belly just below my belly button. The doctors murmur amongst themselves, not really noticing Finnick and I's confused looks. One particular young man is showing them a notebook with many numbers, and I deduce he is the mathematician Coin spoke of.

It is exactly five when the doctors all step back and look over me. I am still almost fully naked, and must look very strange connected to all these different machines. Vivi nods. "She is ready. Start the first drip. Now Morgan, I assume you already know the process, but I will walk you through it as we start you up." I feel my arm tingle, and look down to see the needle in my wrist pulsating a bit, and probably beginning to pump me with some medicine. "As you were told, special medications that contain hormones necessary for a baby to develop are injected, controlled, and monitored over the course of a week. Because you have twins, we have Dr. Freen here, who is a mathematician, recalculating every single medication to make sure it is adequate for twins. Thus, as these medications are administered, your babies will grow in a day what they would in a month. Twins are a bit more unpredictable, which is why the pads on your chest and lower belly have been added, to detect even more minimal changes in heart rate and blood pressure that could mean something is wrong. There will almost always be a doctor in the room just chatting with you both and ready to answer questions as well as to monitor the process. I will be here three times a day to check up on you and make sure things are running smoothly. For now, expect to be in this bed for the next seven days. Questions?"

"What about going to the bathroom?" Finnick asks, taking my hand and squeezing it. "Is she allowed to move at all?"

"No, that's actually what the needle in her thigh is for. It will keep her kidneys in order and alert when she needs to use the bathroom. The machine the needle is connected to will calculate how much she needs to release, and a urinary catheter will be inserted as needed. So no, she cannot move, but that problem is taken care of."

"Food?" I ask hopefully. "Can I eat?"

"You will be able to eat two times a day, but it will be very small amounts. You will feel very weak, but we assure you we will find the most nutritious food to give you enough energy to keep yourself and the babies healthy."

"Sex," Finnick says, and I find my face immediately turns crimson. "How will this affect her for that in the long run?"

"I assure you both, your sexual drive and any other sexual components won't be damaged. If all goes well in the next week, you may engage in sexual activities by the time the babies are two days old."

Finnick's eyebrows quite nearly shoot up to the ceiling, and I smack him. "Be serious," I hiss, though I'm smirking at his audacity.

"I'm trying to lighten the mood, party pooper," he teases, sticking his tongue out at me.

Vivi chuckles lightly. "If that is all, then we will begin the second round, which will really kick in the process. Judging by the fact you are not in pain or showing significant circulation changes on the monitors, the first dosage has already prepared your system. Ready?"

I nod, and she motions for another doctor to insert another medication.

"Now, the pain will kick in soon enough," Vivi says. "It will be difficult to manage. The first day is the worst because your body is not used to it, and the twins will likely not welcome it. But I assure you, we are on standby if this does not work. Additionally, we can give you a certain amount of medication to alleviate the pain. The next twenty hours are for this round, and you should definitely see your stomach grow a bit by nighttime. All good?"

"Yes ma'am," I say. "Thank you."

Let me just say I was not prepared for the pain that followed.

Gradually, my stomach begins to throb. I whin, remembering the horrible period cramps I used to have when I had just started. It feels like that at first, and then it slowly gets stronger. I grit my teeth as the first wave of pain his me.

I scream. I find that suddenly it's like I've been hit with a hammer across the abdomen, and stabbed again with Atlas's spear. It's blinding, and my vision grows hazy from the nausea. It throbs and echoes all around my body, til I'm gripping Finnick's hand so tight it turns white. His face is practically that color too. He looks terrified as I shut my eyes and begin to moan in pain.

"NO!" I cry, my eyes now filled with tears. "Oh god— I can't— I can't— AHHH—"

"Morgan, please try to breathe." I can sense Vivi is wincing from just watching me. "Breathe. Think of the twins— your twins are just in there having a fight. Happy thoughts...."

I try to think of the happiest thing I can, but my vision is clouded by the fact I am in more pain than I have been in my entire life. I find myself screaming again as another powerful throb rocks my body, making me writhe on the bed and cry out until my throat is raw. I can't think of anything but the fact I hate this— I can't possibly do this for seven straight days, I will actually die, or worse, the twins will die.

"GIVE HER THE PAIN MEDS!" Finnick yells over my screams. "SERIOUSLY, NOW!" His voice is shaking as if he's about to cry. I might cry too, if I heard him screaming in pain like this. "GODDAMNIT, GIVE HER THE MEDS!"

I can hear movement around me, but I can't fully register it as I sob. I twitch and shake my head, whimpering as the pain subsides a bit, only for it to come back like a stab right in the chest.

"AHHHH!" I screech, kicking my legs out hard like it might help me get rid of the pain. Now it feels like someone has set me on fire. Like they're dropping large chunks of salt over an open wound and igniting an inferno inside my womb. I wouldn't even wish this pain on Gloss, or Enobaria, who are the only names that really come to mind as I think of pain, and suffering, and the fact that death doesn't seem too bad.

I feel a sudden relief, though the pain is a background effect still, and find I have beads of sweat rolling down my entire face. I pant hard as I open my eyes again, and see the whole room in a blurry image.

"Morgan— Morgan we gave you some pain medication. Does that feel better?"

My neck feels like it was snapped, but I find it moves when I think of nodding my head. "Y-Y-Yes," I croak out, surprised I can still talk. "Y-Yes..."

It is hours later, once I have been calmed enough by pain medication, that Haymitch comes in followed by the gang of people that are meant to hear the words spoken here. I am exhausted and feel sick to my stomach, but I am managing the pain decently well.

I lay in the bed, stiff and sore from the initial wave that hit me, while everyone gathers around me. Finnick has to sit on the bed with me so that everyone can stand comfortably around the room, and even then it looks packed. He gently puts his arms around me and kisses my forehead.

Coin and her people are to my right, all holding notepads. Plutarch and Fulvia are to the front where I can see them, and Katniss's prep team stands behind them. A group from Twelve includes Haymitch and Gale, and others I barely recognize, like Leevy and Greasy Sae. Beetee is wheeled in at the end, beside Dalton, the cattle expert from Ten. I suppose that Coin has assembled this strange assortment of people as witnesses to Katniss's failure, perhaps in an effort to show her how many are relying on her, or maybe to show her she isn't the only misfit.

Regardless, it's Haymitch who welcomes everyone. In the light I start to notice how different he is. He looks slightly yellow and has lost a lot of weight, giving him a shrunken appearance. For a second, I'm afraid he's dying as we speak, and a more paranoid part of me wants him to leave so any potential illness he has doesn't interfere with my procedure, though I quickly push away that thought.

The first thing Haymitch does is to show the footage that was shot yesterday. Some parts of it have a snort from either Finnick or I in the background. It is evident though, that Katniss really needs help. Her voice and her body have a jerky, disjointed quality, like a puppet being manipulated by unseen forces. Kind of makes me think of Plutarch as a ventriloquist.

"All right," Haymitch says when it's over, looking around at the gathered crowd. "Would anyone like to argue that this is of use to us in winning the war?" No one does. "That saves time. So, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where she made you feel something real."

Quiet stretches out. I, personally, am thinking, and I know most others are too, but it definitely comes off as if we have no moment in our minds at all. That is, until Leevy speaks up. "When she volunteered to take Prim's place at the reaping. Because I'm sure she thought she was going to die."

"Good. Excellent example," says Haymitch. He takes a purple marker and writes on a notepad, then takes a seat at my feet. "Volunteered for sister at reaping." Haymitch looks around the room, which has the faint hum of machines in the background. "Somebody else."

I'm surprised that the next speaker is Boggs, who I think of as a muscular robot that does Coin's bidding. As much as I like him, I would never have really thought of him as someone to put in effort for Katniss's cause. "When she sang the song. While the little girl died."

"Who didn't get choked up at that, right?" Haymitch agrees, writing it down.

"I cried when she drugged Peeta so she could go get him medicine and when she kissed him good-bye!" Octavia blurts out before abruptly covering her mouth. Haymitch nods in approval. "Oh, yeah. Drugs Peeta to save his life. Very nice."

The moments begin to come thick and fast and in no particular order, some from me, some from Finnick, and others from the people around us. When Katniss took Rue on as an ally, which is one of the few scenes I remember watching at home after Gloss took advantage of me. When Katniss extended her hand to Chaff on interview night. When she tried to carry Mags‒ that one comes from Finnick specifically. And again and again when she held out those berries that meant different things to different people: for me it was defiance and courage, for Finnick it meant hope and power. Her love for Peeta. Her refusal to give in under impossible odds. Her defiance of the Capitol's inhumanity. Haymitch holds up the notepad. "So, the question is, what do all of these have in common?"

"They were Katniss's," Gale murmurs quietly. His response is automatic, and I know it is because we have all figured out that pattern by now. "No one told her what to do or say."

"Unscripted, yes!" Beetee chirps, looking livelier than I have seen him in awhile. He reaches over and pats Katniss's hand as she shifts her weight on my left. "So we should just leave you alone, right?" People laugh. I even smile a little, despite the fact I'm feeling another horrid pain building up in my core.

"Well, that's all very nice but not very helpful," Fulvia admits peevishly. "Unfortunately, her opportunities for being wonderful are rather limited here in Thirteen. So unless you're suggesting we toss her into the middle of combat‒"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Haymitch says firmly. "Put her out in the field and just keep the cameras rolling."

"But people think she's pregnant," Finnick points out. "That won't sit well."

"We'll spread the word that she lost the baby from the electrical shock in the arena," Plutarch replies. "Very sad. Very unfortunate. Unluckily for Katniss, she didn't have a boyfriend to shield her, and she was too close to the tree."

The idea of sending Katniss into combat is controversial, and I find it doesn't matter what Plutarch's story is for her being pregnant or not‒ can she even handle it, is the real question. But Haymitch has a pretty tight case‒ if she performs well only in real-life circumstances, then into them she should go, and that will make it as real as it needs to be. "Every time we coach her or give her lines, the best we can hope for is okay. It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to."

"Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety," Boggs says very seriously. "She'll be a target for every‒"

"I want to go," Katniss breaks in. "I'm no help to the rebels here."

"And if you're killed?" Coin asks immediately.

"Make sure you get some footage. You can use that, anyway," Katniss answers sharply.

"Fine," Coin says, looking at me for an instant before turning away. "But let's take it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you. Because one, we cannot risk your death to begin with. Especially not with Morgan just starting the procedure." She walks around the room, every now and then looking at me, looking at a tablet in her hands, studying the illuminated district maps that show the ongoing troop positions in the war that we have been shown numerous times. "Take her into Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want her armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you'll be airborne and in contact with her. Let's see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?"

"Wash her face," Dalton says immediately. Everyone turns to him. "She's still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something the Capitol would do."

Coin nods. "Well then, meeting adjourned." She leaves and her team follow her out, including Plutarch, Fulvia, and Katniss's prep team as well as Greasy Sae, Leevy, and Dalton. Haymitch and Gale linger behind with Katniss, Finnick, and I (and the twins, of course).

Haymitch is about to speak when he looks at Gale, who lingers uncertainly by Katniss's side. "What are you worried about?" Haymitch asks him. "I'm the one who needs the bodyguard."

"It's okay," Katniss tells Gale, and he goes. Then there's just the hum of the machines, the purr of the ventilation system. "Are we going to be listening in?" Finnick asks uncertainly.

Haymitch doesn't answer right away before he gets up. "Yes, it's fine, but this is mostly directed at Katniss." He turns to look at her directly. "We're going to have to work together again. So, go ahead. Just say it."

There is a dreadful pause, and for a second I think Katniss might begin snarling at him, but all she says is: "I can't believe you didn't rescue Peeta."

"I know," he replies.

A few beats of silence in which Finnick and I look awkwardly between Katniss and Haymitch, still not sure why we are invited into this clearly very private conversation.

"Now you say it," Katniss tells him.

"I can't believe you let him out of your sight that night," Haymitch says. He the turns to Finnick and I. "Thank you. Just wanted you both to know we're not going to murder each other out there."

"All right," I say, leaning back into my pillows and rubbing over my throbbing belly. "I trust you."

At this, Haymitch beckons for Katniss to follow him, clearly to continue the conversation.

The doctors flood back into the room later. "Good, seems as though the pain medication is working," Vivi says after she takes one look at me.

"I don't feel much," I mumble. "Better, a bit."

She nods at my words and comes to check under the nightgown they thankfully placed on me before the others came in. "Would you look at that?" She marvels.

Finnick and I immediately duck our heads to look, and my eyes widen.

My stomach is no longer flat the way I'd made it become. It has the slightest bump over it, and when Vivi touches it, it is solid.

"Your twins seem to have grown a decent amount for today," Vivi says with a smile. "Good girl, Morgan. Your body is keeping them nice and safe and responding just the way we want it to. Try to get some sleep, okay?"

She leaves, and only one doctor lingers behind to watch the monitors.

Finnick makes a small noise of relief and wraps his arms around me again before kissing my forehead.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," I breathe back.


	35. Chapter 35

At first, when I appear back in my house in District Seven, I am not aware that I am dreaming.

The mansion is just how I left it, with everything nicely arranged and polished. It clearly looks like no one has lived there in awhile, which makes sense considering the fact my subconscious doesn’t seem keen on making me stay. I begin to walk out, down the stony path that leads miles down to the main center of the district where the markets and Justice Building stand. 

I don’t know exactly why I am walking here, nor where I intend to go. I find that I’m heading into the poorer parts again, where I grew up. After passing through the main gates to the neighborhood, run down house after house assaults my peripheral vision as I continue through the endless row of poverty that was once where Devan and I raced each other to amuse Gretchen, when she first had her accident.

By the time I enter my old house, I am aware that I am indeed dreaming. Not only because Daphne is sitting on a rocking chair in the center of the room, but because as I pass the broken mirror we leaned against the wall, I can see my little baby bump from underneath my shirt.

Daphne. My best friend. The woman who, although older than me, considered me the closest friend she had. Of course she adopted more-so the role of mother for my siblings and I. I remember being told that it was Daphne who tried to get the Peacekeepers to stop hurting Devan before she was killed.

I don’t find that I think of Daphne much. Perhaps because despite us being so close, I always saw her as a mother before a friend, and by then I remembered by parents were gone and all. I constantly find myself reminiscing my siblings, and even Misha before, but never Daphne.

I feel guilty as I walk up, and take a seat across from her in the rocking chair that seems to have appeared just for me. I have hardly thought of her. Not because I didn’t love her, or anything. Perhaps it is that in the weeks leading up to my first Reaping, she and I didn’t speak much because she had extra shifts. I don’t know exactly why I never consciously remembered her as much as I did everyone else, but now I feel especially evil. I called her my best friend and yet, I always thought of Misha and my siblings over her.

“Morgan,” she says calmly, smiling at me. She has wrinkles around her eyes and mouth as she moves it to welcome me. She is rocking ever so slightly in the chair, and her feet are grazing the floor, never actually touching it as she rests them against the armrests. Her body is leaned back and relaxed. 

“Daphne, I’m sorry,” I say immediately, the guilt overcoming me. “I-I didn’t think of you as much as the others.”

Daphne lets out an airy chuckle. “You cannot possibly think I’m here to call you out, Morgan. I know we were not as close as you were with the others, even if we were best friends. I understand it. Misha well, you had to watch him be dragged away. That was a memory that was irreplaceable. Your siblings, well, you knew them your whole life. The pure brutality of their murders was a lot to keep in your mind. Me, well, I placed myself in the path of death. Besides... I was always more of your mother than your best friend. We both know that. I chose to practically adopt the three of you as the children I didn’t have because I saw you as vulnerable and innocent.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, my hands twitching as they transition from my lap to my stomach, tapping over the bump. Part of me wishes I could already feel my twins moving around inside. It would bring me a great deal of comfort to know they are well and wiggly, not tainted by the procedure or anything. “I still am sorry.”

“Oh, hush, Morgan,” she replies, shaking her head. She looks down at my belly and smiles. “Twins. You are so lucky.”

“Yeah, twins,” I breathe, finding I’m already fascinated by the way my stomach rolls now that it has the bump.

“Oh... I wish your mother would be here to see this,” Daphne sighs as she moves forward, leaning just enough that she can place her hands on my belly. She traced her palms around it, and I can see she is tearing up. “You will be a fantastic mother, you know?” 

I blush. “I really hope to be. I just... I worry.”

“Morgan, you are the strongest woman I have ever met. After everything that you have been through and yet you are not cruel, vengeful, or anything. You are a good girlfriend to Finnick, and you have already kept these babies safe. Have faith in yourself.”

Daphne smiling is the last thing I see before I shoot awake, and immediately begin to scream in pain.

Let’s just say that day two of the procedure is even worse than day one. Between the lack of proper food that leaves me in a lot of pain out of hunger and then the actual medication, I’m a mess. I curl up and cry, every now and them screaming for them to give me more pain meds. 

The entire day I feel Finnick’s arms around me. To be honest, I don’t know if he eats. He must, because he doesn’t look weary or anything, so I assume he might grab a bite when I’m passed out, but he’s by my side so much I grow worried.

It isn’t until the morning of day three when the pain is much more tolerable that I find out that something happened in District Eight.

Coin calls the meeting to order once again inside my hospital room for me to hear. I am again surrounded by people, but thankfully am in minimal pain that leaves me calm enough to listen. "Our Airtime Assault has officially launched. For any of you who missed yesterday's twenty-hundred broadcast of our first propo— or the seventeen reruns Beetee has managed to air since— we will begin by replaying it." 

I shift as Finnick puts his arm around my shoulders, watching the large screen that is set up for all to see. I can see Katniss is nervous, and now I’m worried. What even happened? 

At first, the screen is black. Then a tiny spark flickers in the center. It blossoms, spreads, silently eating up the blackness until the entire frame is ablaze with a fire so real and intense. The image of Katniss’s mockingjay pin emerges, glowing red-gold. The deep, resonant voice of Claudius Templesmith, suddenly says, "Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, burns on."

Suddenly, there Katniss is, replacing the mockingjay, standing before real flames and smoke. My eyes widen and my mouth drops, realizing that this is live footage, and the flames and smoke are coming from the ruins of District Eight. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive,” Katniss says sharply, her voice filled with pain. “That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors." 

The scene cuts to show a large building that I know must be the hospital collapsing in on itself.

"I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself,” Katniss growls in the background of the scene, her voice shaky, though confident. “Because you know who they are and what they do." 

Back to her now, her hands lifting up to indicate the outrage she feels. It is so real I feel chills all over my body. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!" 

It cuts to shots of bombs falling, Katniss running, being blown to the ground— a close-up of a wound Katniss seems to have acquired, which looks good and bloody— her scaling the roof. Then there are some incredible looking shots of the rebels, Gale, and mostly Katniss. Her knocking full-blown planes out of the sky. 

"President Snow says he's sending us a message?” She snarls when it cuts back to her. “Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" The camera is tracking to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse. "Fire is catching!And if we burn, you burn with us!" 

Flames once again engulf the screen. Super imposed on them in black, solid letters are the words: IF WE BURN YOU BURN WITH US. The words then catch fire and the whole screen burns to blackness.

“Holy crap.” I am the first to speak, and it seems everyone was anticipating my reaction, because most must have seen it already. “You— how— you blew up planes— and you—“

“Yeah,” Katniss says in a small voice, looking a bit sheepishly at me. I am glad she seems comfortable enough around me to say that.

The people around me are applauding and demanding to see it again. Coin gives in, and I am transfixed and watching again, absolutely fascinated by what they put together. The unscripted aspect of Katniss was exactly what they needed.

I’m so glad I don’t have to be the Mockingjay. 

By the time the screen burns to black a second time, Katniss’s curiosity seems to spike. "Did it play all over Panem?” She asks hurriedly. “Did they see it in the Capitol?"

"Not in the Capitol," says Plutarch, looking disappointed at this. "We couldn't override their system, although Beetee's working on it. But in all the districts. We even got it on in Two, which may be more valuable than the Capitol at this point in the game."

That’s good news. If District Two can see the brutality that they are usually blind to, it can give us an upper hand. It’s no secret they fabricate a great deal of the warriors for the Capitol’s cause. 

"Is Claudius Templesmith with us?" Katniss asks, probably wondering since they used his dialogue.

This gives Plutarch a good laugh. It’s comical to think that he would support us. "Only his voice. But that's ours for the taking. We didn't even have to do any special editing. He said that actual line in your first Games." He slaps his hand on the table. "What say we give another round of applause to Cressida, her amazing team, and, of course, our on-camera talent!"

I clap very proudly, and a small jolt in my tummy alerts me that the babies can probably sense my excitement. My bump is bigger now that I’m essentially growing up to four months, since I started at one month already on the first day of the procedure. 

My eyes scan the crowd, and I fixate my eyes on Fulvia. She looks strained, and I think of how hard this must be for her, watching Haymitch's idea succeed under Cressida's direction, when Fulvia's studio approach was such a flop for Katniss. Of course, that’s not exactly her fault. 

Coin seems to have reached the end of her tolerance for self-congratulation, as if she’s thoroughly annoyed by all the clapping. "Yes, well deserved. The result is more than we had hoped for. But I do have to question the wide margin of risk that you were willing to operate within. I know the raid was unforeseen. However, given the circumstances, I think we should discuss the decision to send Katniss into actual combat."

What? That catches me off guard. For Coin to bring up sending her into combat... something must have triggered her after this. Maybe it was the fact Katniss contributed to a successful propo, or maybe this is Coin’s way of testing her.

"It was a tough call," Plutarch says, furrowing his brow. "But the general consensus was that we weren't going to get anything worth using if we locked her in a bunker somewhere every time a gun went off."

"And you're all right with that?" asks the president.

Katniss doesn’t immediately respond, and I notice that Gale has to kick her to snap her out of her thoughts. "Oh! Yeah, I'm completely all right with that. It felt good. Doing something for a change."

"Well, let's be just a little more judicious with her exposure. Especially now that the Capitol knows what she can do," says Coin. There's a rumble of assent from around the table.

Almost immediately I can sense that Katniss thinks this doesn’t fit. Maybe she did something wrong and no one reported it? That seems like something she would do, she’s not the most compliant. I notice Haymitch is giving her a deadly smile before saying sweetly, "Yeah, we wouldn't want to lose our little Mockingjay when she's finally begun to sing." 

"So, what else do you have planned?" Coin asks before I can ponder more on what Katniss may or may not have done.

Plutarch nods to Cressida, who consults a clipboard. "We have some terrific footage of Katniss at the hospital in Eight. There should be another propo in that with the theme 'Because you know who they are and what they do.' We'll focus on Katniss interacting with the patients, particularly the children, the bombing of the hospital, and the wreckage. Messalla's cutting that together. We're also thinking about a Mockingjay piece. Highlight some of Katniss's best moments intercut with scenes of rebel uprisings and war footage. We call that one 'Fire is catching.' And then Fulvia came up with a really brilliant idea."

Fulvia's mouthful-of-sour-grapes expression that I noticed on her earlier is startled right off her face, but she recovers. "Well, I don't know how brilliant it is, but I was thinking we could do a series of propos called ‘We Remember.’ In each one, we would feature one of the dead tributes. Little Rue from Eleven or old Mags from Four. The idea being that we could target each district with a very personal piece."

My chest immediately tightens when I think of Griffin and Blight. Griffin, the innocent boy I could not save. Blight, the mentor I should have listened to more often. 

Oh yes, that will certainly target the districts personally. No one in Seven has forgotten Griffin, and certainly everyone was sad about Blight. As antisocial as he was, they all knew he was a very good man. 

"A tribute to your tributes, as it were," Plutarch muses thoughtfully.

"That is brilliant, Fulvia," Katniss says sincerely. "It's the perfect way to remind people why they're fighting."

"I think it could work," she agrees. "I thought we might use Finnick to intro and narrate the spots. If there was interest in them."

Finnick seems to like this. “I’d be willing. But only if we can do it somewhere where I’m not far from Morgan.”

“Yes, of course,” Fulvia notes, nodding to him. I notice this makes Finnick squeeze my shoulder excitedly. 

"Frankly, I don't see how we could have too many We Remember propos," Coin says, clearly very supportive of the idea. "Can you start producing them today?"

"Of course," Fulvia replies, obviously mollified by the response to her idea.

Cressida has smoothed everything over in the creative department with her gesture. Praised Fulvia for what is, in fact, a really good idea, and cleared the way to continue her own on-air depiction of the Mockingjay. That’s quite clever.

What's interesting is that Plutarch seems to have no need to share in the credit, which I admire in him. All he wants is for the Airtime Assault to work. I remember then that Plutarch is a Head Gamemaker, not a member of the crew, and that’s how heMs always been. Therefore, his worth is truly not defined by a single element, but by the overall success of the production. If we all win the war, that's when Plutarch will take his bow. And probably expect his reward, knowing how this all works.

The president then sends everyone off to get to work. Everyone leaves except for Gale and Katniss, and I raise my eyebrows at them.

“So maybe there was a cover up,” Gale says nonchalantly, making Finnick chuckle. “But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause Coin doesn’t know.”

“How are you feeling, Morgan?” Katniss asks, pinching Gale’s arm.

“Today was better than yesterday,” I reply, shrugging it off. “It’s been helping that I keep dreaming of my old friend Daphne.”

“Oh yeah?” Gale asks with a chuckle. “Is Finnick not enough?”

“Hey,” Finnick whines, kissing my cheek as I laugh. “He is, but she comes when I sleep,” I say. “Finnick is the best company when I’m awake.”

Soon, however, Vivi is saying that Katniss and Gale have to go, and Gale wheels Katniss back to her hospital room. 

Vivi then comes over to examine me, and after her little routine checking the bump and the charts, she smiles. “Very good progress. It seems the twins aren’t fighting against the medication anymore, they’re just dealing with it. From here it gets a bit easier, but probably in a few days you’ll start to feel extreme pain again. You might go into labor on Day Seven, and as we approach the end of Day Three... this is very likely you’ll meet your twins soon.”

Finnick sits up excitedly. “So when can we find out the gender?”

“Probably the day after next we will be able to tell,” Vivi says confidently. “Anything else you need?”

I shake my head, and Finnick imitates me.

At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on the television that was left for us.

“I’m so jealous of all the food you can eat,” I say, noticing this is the first time I’ve seen him eat in the past three days. I stare down sadly at my very small bowl of soup.

“Hey, as soon as they’re born, we’ll pig out, yeah?” Finnick offers. He then looks up. “Ah, Katniss! Here to join us.”

Katniss’s face is emotionless as she wheels herself in, her tray on her lap. “Thought I’d join you two,” she says simply as she settles on the other side of me.

“Glad to have you here,” I chirp. I then finish the rest of my soup and lay back comfortably, every now and then watching Finnick eating like a wolf from his tray.

The rebels air the "Because you know who they are and what they do" propo that Messalla edited— the one they mentioned earlier. The footage is intercut with short studio clips of Gale, Boggs, and Cressida describing the incident. I can tell that it’s hard for Katniss to watch her reception in the hospital in eight. She winces when the bombs rain down on the roof, and she abruptly leans over and buries her face in my pillow, looking up again once I tap her during a brief clip of her at the end, after all the victims are implied to be dead.

At least Finnick doesn't applaud or act all happy when it's done, considering how excited he can get with successes, this being one for Katniss. He just says, "People should know that happened. And now they do." He then kisses my forehead.

"Let's turn it off, Finnick, before they run it again," I suggest, noticing Katniss doesn’t seem up for watching anything anymore. But just as Finnick's hand moves toward the remote control, Katniss cries, "Wait!" The Capitol is introducing a special segment and something about it looks familiar. 

Good christ. Caesar Flickerman... and Peeta.

Peeta's physical transformation shocks me, and I know Katniss is feeling the same. The healthy, clear-eyed boy we saw a few days ago has lost at least fifteen pounds and developed a nervous tremor in his hands. They've still got him groomed, but underneath the paint that cannot cover the bags under his eyes, and the fine clothes that cannot conceal the pain he feels when he moves, is a person badly damaged. I can’t imagine what they must be doing to him.

“What—?” Katniss shrieks. “I just saw him! Four— no, five— I think it was five days ago! How the hell has he deteriorated so rapidly? What the hell could they possibly have done to him in such a short time?” She then stops. “Oh my god... they could have taped this ages ago...”

I immediately reach to hold her hand as she whispers Peeta’s name, and I notice Finnick tenses as he looks over at us, wondering if maybe he should do something.

Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that Katniss is taping propos for the districts. That makes her let out a harsh breath, and it’s not just because of the question, but because of Peeta’s response. 

“They're using her, obviously," Peeta says. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" asks Caesar.

"There is," Peeta says. He looks directly into the camera, and Katniss squeezes my hand so tight that I let out a small cry of pain, though she isn’t paying any attention to me. "Don't be a fool, Katniss,” Peeta says boldly, which is unusual considering how deteriorated he looks. “Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't...find out."

I expect there to be something else, but that’s it. A black screen. The seal of Panem. Just like that, the show’s over.

Finnick immediately presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will probably be in here to do damage control on Peeta's condition and the words that came out of his mouth. Katniss will need to repudiate them.

Footsteps are approaching just seconds after, while we sit in silence. Finnick gets up and goes to the other side, where Katniss is, and grips her hard by the arms. “We didn't see it."

"What?" Katniss asks, looking like she might cry.

"We didn't see Peeta,” Finnick insists. “Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?" 

“And because it upset you,” I add quickly, looking first at Finnick and Katniss, “we started talking about my babies. You bet it’s going to be two girls. Finnick said two boys.”

Katniss nods immediately, and Finnick motions for her to keep eating before quickly discarding his tray and my bowl.

By the time Plutarch and Fulvia enter, Katniss has a mouthful of bread and cabbage. Finnick is talking about how two boys might be a hassle. When he ‘notices’ them, he immediately tells them how well Gale came across on camera. I make a point to congratulate them on the propo, making it clear it was so powerful, Katniss and I got emotional and we tuned out right after. 

There is no need to mention Peeta.

But even so, all I can think about that night while I lay in Finnick’s arms, and as I start to feel the little creatures moving around in my womb for the first time, is that something is terribly wrong with Peeta, and that it’s strangely reminding me of Misha.   
  


**A/N: Thoughts on the chapter? You know I love hearing them. :)**


	36. Chapter 36

Today is Day Six of the procedure. 

I’m meant to be seven months by the end of the day, which is exciting. My belly is now quite large, and Finnick can’t stop poking it every now and then and shooting me a goofy smile.

“Good afternoon to you,” Finnick chirps after I wake up after my nap. “And to you.” One poke to my stomach. “And you.” He pokes it again before kissing my cheek. 

“Have you been waiting for me to wake up this entire time?” I ask groggily. While I am not in pain anymore due to the medication, I still get incredibly tired, and that just makes my whole body ache. 

“Maybe. Katniss was here earlier. Told me they got some footage of her singing this song that I had never heard of. It’s dinnertime soon.”

I sit up and groan, and it seems this is the signal that I am ready to eat, because Vivi comes in with a small tray of food. Finnick is given an extra large portion of pea soup, while I get about half of a normal portion.

“Unfortunately you still can’t eat normally,” Vivi says as she checks the machines and takes notes on the numbers that appear there. “But I promise that’ll change soon.”

“When can we find out the genders?” Finnick asks as he slurps his soup. “We keep having to wait because you all insist Morgan rests.”

“Perhaps tonight,” Vivi replies. “Your numbers are looking good, Morgan. I’m glad to say this is going very well. You both will be able to meet your twins in no time.”

When we finish our dinner, we have a few minutes of Finnick laying his head on my belly and speaking to the babies, though that’s quickly interrupted. 

“Daddy will get you both some nice shrimp,” he coos, smirking at me and then kissing my belly twice. “Then, he will take you both on a boat to swim in the deep sea. And then—“

“Sorry to interrupt what it probably a very cozy discussing, but we are meeting.”

Finnick and I both look up to see President Coin has stepped into our room. Barely seconds later, the rest of the usual crew files in. Katniss comes to her usual spot on the other side of me, and Finnick reluctantly draws away, looking annoyed that he didn’t get to keep talking to the twins. I find that doing that lifts his spirits a lot, because it reminds him why we are doing this procedure and why we are going to fight this war. 

The usual screens are brought in, and they are already showing the regular Capitol feed, which catches me by surprise. 

"What's going on? Aren't we seeing the Twelve propos?" Katniss asks. She’s just as confused as I am. 

"Oh, no," says Plutarch. "I mean, possibly. I don't know exactly what footage Beetee plans to use." 

"Beetee thinks he's found a way to break into the feed nationwide," Finnick says. "So that our propos will air in the Capitol, too. He's down working on it in Special Defense now— at least, that’s what he said when he visited earlier. There's live programming tonight. Snow's making an appearance or something. I think it's starting."

Before I can ask Finnick why he didn’t tell me this juicy bit of information before, the Capitol seal appears, underscored by the anthem. Then I'm staring directly into President Snow's snake eyes as he greets the nation.

It’s almost revolting how old he looks. I think being here, confined, and not getting a normal pregnancy experience has just made my rage toward him increase. I see his eyes and want to vomit. His skin looks sickly— actually more so than before, when I’d spoken to him. He seems barricaded behind his podium, but the white rose in his lapel is in full view for everyone to see. That makes me want to vomit too. 

The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat, which makes Katniss tense beside me. I immediately grab her hand. I can see that beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on Peeta’s upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes— angry yet unfocused— that look frightens me. 

"He's worse," Katniss whispers. Finnick reaches across my belly to grasp her other hand, then holds my free one tightly. We are giving Katniss an anchor to hold onto, and I hope it helps. I can’t even imagine how distressed she must be, and it’s unsettling how she doesn’t show it. 

Peeta begins to speak in a frustrated tone about the need for the cease-fire. He highlights the damage done to key infrastructure in various districts, and as he speaks, parts of the map light up, showing images of the destruction. A broken dam in 7. The mention of my district makes me tense, and Finnick caresses the back of my hand to soothe me. Peeta mentions a derailed train with a pool of toxic waste spilling from the tank cars. A granary collapsing after a fire. All of these he attributes to rebel action.

But suddenly, his words are broken. Without warning, Katniss is suddenly on the television, standing in the rubble of what looks to have once been a bakery. 

Plutarch jumps to his feet. "He did it! Beetee broke in!"

The room's buzzing with reaction when Peeta's back, distracted. He has seen Katniss on the monitor— that is for sure. He tries to pick up his speech by moving on to the bombing of a water purification plant, when a clip of Finnick talking about Rue replaces him. I squeeze Finnick’s hand immediately, because I had no idea he’d filmed that segment, but from the background, it looks like it was filmed in this room, probably while I was sleeping.

And then the whole thing breaks down into a broadcast battle, as the Capitol tech masters try to fend off Beetee's attack. But they are seemingly unprepared, and Beetee, apparently anticipating he would not hold on to control, has an arsenal of five to ten second clips to work with. 

We watch the official presentation deteriorate as it's peppered with choice shots from the propos. Katniss, Finnick, and I are some of the few people silent in the room, because everyone is cheering Beetee on, and Plutarch himself is in spasms of delight.

I notice Haymitch looking our way, and see his eyes are locked on Katniss’s. I don’t interfere, and instead turn to Finnick, letting out a shaky breath.

“I wanted you to see it when Beetee broke in,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to get you excited for something that might not happen.”

I nod slowly, but even now I’m not excited. I’m terrified, because every time it goes back to Peeta, I can see he looks more and more disheveled. Something is seriously wrong with him, and as I look closer at his face whenever he reappears, I notice his eyes are so much like Misha’s.

Lost but angry. 

The Capitol seal's back up suddenly, accompanied by a flat audio tone. This lasts about twenty seconds before Snow and Peeta return. The set is in turmoil. We're hearing frantic exchanges from their booth. Snow plows forward, saying that clearly the rebels are now attempting to disrupt the dissemination of information they find incriminating, but both truth and justice will reign. The full broadcast will resume when security has been reinstated. He asks Peeta if, given tonight's demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of her name, Peeta's face contorts in effort, and I can practically feel the strain he feels, because it reminds me of how I struggled to keep myself together with every interview I had. "Katniss...how do you think this will end?” He asks desperately. “What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you...in Thirteen..." He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. "Dead by morning!"

Off camera, Snow orders, "End it!" Beetee throws the whole thing into chaos by flashing a still shot of Katniss standing in front of the hospital at three-second intervals. But between the images, we are privy to the real-life action being played out on the set. Peeta's attempt to continue speaking. The camera knocked down to record the white tiled floor. The scuffle of boots. The impact of the blow that's inseparable from Peeta's cry of pain. His blood as it splatters the tiles.

I hear Katniss make some sort of noise beside me, but I can’t understand it. It’s like she was attempting to build up a scream but it disappeared like it would in the throat of an Avox. She sounds like she’s choking, but no one is paying any attention.

The room's in an uproar. Questions and demands ring out as they try to decipher Peeta's words. "And you...in Thirteen...dead by morning!" Yet no one is asking about the messenger whose blood has been replaced by static, or about our Mockingjay, who can’t possibly be feeling good after watching that.

A voice calls the others to attention. "Shut up!" Every pair of eyes falls on Haymitch. "It's not some big mystery! The boy's telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen."

"How would he have that information?"

"Why should we trust him?"

"How do you know?"

Haymitch gives a growl of frustration. "They're beating him bloody while we speak. What more do you need? Katniss, help me out here!"

I doubt Katniss can speak, but the second I’m about to try and help the situation, she shakes herself and answers. "Haymitch's right. I don't know where Peeta got the information. Or if it's true. But he believes it is. And they're—“ she stops immediately.

"You don't know him," Haymitch says to Coin. "We do. Get your people ready."

The President doesn't seem alarmed, only somewhat perplexed, by this turn in events. She mulls over the words, tapping one finger lightly on the rim of the control board in front of her. When she speaks, she addresses Haymitch in an even voice. "Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario. Although we have decades of support for the assumption that further direct attacks on Thirteen would be counterproductive to the Capitol's cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results. Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we know they hope to regain. And, of course, they invite a counterstrike. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be viewed as acceptable risks."

"You think so?" says Haymitch sharply, clearly eager for them to do something about this. 

"I do. At any rate, we're overdue for a Level Five security drill," Coin replies. "Let's proceed with the lockdown." She begins to type rapidly on her portable keyboard, authorizing her decision. The moment she raises her head, it begins.

There have been two low-level drills since we all arrived in Thirteen. The first one, we were basically exempt from because we were in the hospital at the time. The second one, Finnick and I were already in our living quarters when it happened, which simply meant we had to stay.

But that had been Levels One and Two. This was so different— a jump to Level Five. As soon as the sirens begin to permeate Thirteen, I tense, and I feel a need to start crying. The sound is so loud, so piercing and fear inducing, that it’s clearly meant to throw the whole population into a frenzy, though knowing the people here, they will react calmly.

Everyone floods out of my room except for my doctors. Coin and her people are heading straight to Command to monitor the potential attack, and Boggs leads Katniss to the stairway.

“Alright, Morgan, here’s the plan,” Vivi says as she and her team come forward and start to unplug the machines. “We need to stop the procedure.”

“What?” I shriek as the needles in my arms start to be removed. “But— but the twins—“

“— will be fine,” the mathematician intervenes. I have yet to learn his name. All I recall is that he is the youngest one here, besides me, and he always carries a notebook. “Peeta’s warning could not have come sooner. You are at an optimal point to be unplugged from everything. Your medication drip has already been administered since earlier today. All you were going to be left to do until tonight was to just wait. The next drip wouldn’t be in administered till tomorrow morning. You and your twins will be perfectly fine. All we need to do is momentarily stop it, as long as this takes. Obviously that may last a few days, but I promise I will recalculate everything. Just stay calm. We need to move you, and machines are going to drag you behind. We must get you down to the bunkers where everyone else will be. Do you understand?”

It’s Finnick who answers for the both of us. “Yes. How can I help?”

“Glad you asked,” Vivi says. In the time it has taken for the mathematician to explain to Finnick and I what’s going to happen, Vivi and her team have already unplugged me from every single machine, and have turned everything off and stowed it away in a separate room. I hadn’t even noticed that they had left to put them away. “You are going to have to carry Morgan. She can’t move on her own— she’ll have to practice walking a little bit when she is down in the bunker. Right now, her legs haven’t been made to work in a while, so she will not be able to make it down there even if she is leaning on you. Garrick and I will be coming with you to give her an ultrasound and take her heart rate every now and then while our medical personnel go to a separate bunker, so our hands will be full. Finnick, you must be very careful. You will be going down many flights of stairs, and if you fall, that can throw her and her twins into distress.“

“Got it,” he says immediately. 

“What do I do?” I ask frantically. “You all have jobs.”

“Your only job is to try and stay calm,” the mathematician (who I now assume is named Garrick) says. “Your babies are reflecting what you feel. If you allow yourself to be too stressed, there will be more stress hormones in the amniotic fluid. That can have a very very bad effect on the fetuses, considering they have been under medication and are not being developed as naturally. So just try and stay calm, because as cheesy as it sounds, it’s the most important thing that you need to do— really, the only thing you need to do.”

“Okay,” I reply. The siren continues to wail as Vivi and Garrick together scoop up an ultrasound machine and portable heart monitor. Finnick picks me up, and I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning into my chest and trying to focus on my breathing.

The staircase is absolutely packed with people. Streams of people are converging to form a river that flows only downward. As I suspected, no one shrieks or tries to push ahead. Even the children don’t resist, because everyone understands the need to stay calm. I admire that about Thirteen.

We descend, flight after flight, speechless, because no word could be heard above this sound. Finnick isn’t looking at me, because he’s making sure he watches every step. He took Vivi’s words very seriously, and I know he’s doing his best to follow the crowd and not trip.

Behind us, Vivi and Garrick are also silent. I find comfort only in remembering how much they care, and how they are accommodating to keep my twins and I safe before something catastrophic happens. We have descended quite a bit when Finnick starts to rub my back, probably to also calm himself down. I lay my head directly over his heart, and feel it is pounding against my ear. He’s definitely not calm right now, but he is trying to be.

“I love you,” I say quietly, looking up at him. I doubt he hears me, but saying it is enough to get me to start calming down a bit more. I breathe slowly in, exhaling for a long time before repeating the process. I try to time it with Finnick’s steps, which are steady, and maintain a set rhythm.

Suddenly my ears pop, and I wince. We have to be very deep underground now. I find the sirens aren’t as shrill-sounding or as loud down here. It’s as if they were meant to physically drive us away from the surface, which I suppose they are, because we are further from where an attack will strike.

Finally we reach the end of the stairs— at the edge of an enormous cavern. Groups of people begin to peel off into marked doorways, scanning their schedule before entering. My schedule has been the same since the procedure started, which basically just says ‘hospital’ on it. Finnick walks up and scans himself first before tenderly lifting my hand and scanning it. It’s the first time he looks at me since he picked me up, and he offers me a smile before placing one hand over my belly and rubbing it slowly. His other arm is tucked under my thighs, and I realize he’s not struggling to hold me up like that. My arms around his neck are a dead weight— really, he’s carrying me entirely on one arm.

That’ll give him another thing to be proud of when I tell him later. 

The bunker we are in seems a combination of nature and man-made materials. Certain areas of the walls are stone, while steel beams and concrete heavily reinforce others. Sleeping bunks are hewn right into the rock walls. There's a kitchen, bathrooms, a first-aid station. This place was designed for an extended stay, and I find I get a bit anxious thinking we will be here awhile.

White signs with letters or numbers are placed at intervals around the cavern. Behind us, Vivi tells Finnick to report us to the area that matches our assigned quarters. He carries me there, revealing our space consists of a twelve-by-twelve foot square of stone floor delineated by painted lines. Carved into the wall are two bunks and a ground-level cube space for storage. A piece of white paper, coated in clear plastic, reads BUNKER PROTOCOL. 

Vivi and Garrick set their machines in the storage space, and Finnick lowers me onto the bunk, making me wince because it’s not comfortable at all.

“We will leave the machines here, for now,” Garrick tells us as Finnick grabs the protocol paper. “We will return once we find our spaces.”

He and Vivi part ways, and Finnick sits beside me, and begins to read off the page. “Alright... ‘on arrival’ it says: make sure all members of your Compartment are accounted for.” He smirks. “One.” He pats his chest. “Two.” He pokes my forehead. “Three and four.” He pats my belly twice. This makes me laugh lightly, and he leans down to kiss my forehead. “All of us here.” 

He then looks back at the page. “Okay... go to the Supply Station and secure one pack for each member of your Compartment. Ready your Living Area. Return packs.” He furrows his eyebrows. “Do the twins get their own packs?”

“Probably not,” I say as he stands. “Be right back,” he chirps as he goes to find the Supply Station. 

While I wait for him, I look around and see that almost everyone is staring at me. It might be because they haven’t seen me in awhile, or maybe they’re just astounded that I’m not the skinny girl that arrived at first. 

Finnick returns shortly, setting down two packs. He opens the first and finds a thin mattress, bedding, and two sets of gray clothing, a toothbrush, a comb, and a flashlight. The second is the exact same, except it has an extra bedding sheet.

“That one must be yours, but since we fit on the same bed, we can combine both mattresses and the bedding,” he says, looking giddy like he solved the most important problem.

I let out a giggle as he gently helps me sit up. “Next item on the list is await further instructions, so how about we see if you can walk a bit so I can set the mattresses and bedding down?” 

“I can help you,” I offer as he hoists me up. But almost immediately I wince and grab onto him, my nails digging into his arm. “Okay... maybe I should stay off to the side. I feel dizzy just standing.”

“I promise I’ll fix the bed quickly,” he notes. He wraps his arm around my waist, his other hand holding one of mine. “Take a step, maybe?”

I move my foot forward, but I sway. My body is not used to this weight. The last time I walked on my own, I was barely a month along, and now I’m nearly seven months along. Finnick holds me firm as I take a few shaky steps. My legs aren’t responding well, but luckily I am soon able to stand as long as I hold onto something.

After Finnick gets me back to our bunk and has me hold onto one of the railings, he sets both mattresses on the lower bunk I was on, and adjusts all the bedding on it. It certainly is big enough to fit us both, especially considering we are constantly wrapped in each other’s arms.

“There we go,” he says when he is finished. He helps me onto the bed, and I sigh gratefully. “So much better,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

He smiles and crawls onto the mattress with me, wrapping his arms around me and placing them on my belly. Almost immediately after, we both gasp.

“That was a hard kick,” he says, and I know he’s smiling as he kisses my cheek. I feel another movement, and wince a bit as another kick comes from the other twin. “See, that kick was all the way over here....” I move his hand to be right over the spot. “They’re excited.”

Usually, the twins don’t move around much. I get to feel a little movement from them basically every night, but in the morning once the procedure continues in another medication drip is given, I don’t get to feel them moving again for another many hours. 

But now they are getting very riled up. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, because I feel some slight pain as they’re kicking. Of course, I think that’s fairly normal, but I will need to ask Vivien and Garrick when they come over. Finnick is overjoyed though, his hands sliding all around my belly every time they kick. He’s laughing, and slowly I start to laugh too. It’s not that bad after a while, and I start to cry, thinking of the fact that my twins are alive inside me, and they are perfectly fine if they are strong enough to kick.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Finnick whispers in my ear, kissing my cheek after that. “It’s okay.”

“I’m crying because I’m happy,” I whisper back to him, my voice cracking a bit. “Our babies are healthy and strong.”

“Just like their mama,” he chuckles, now pressing a kiss onto my neck.

“And their daddy,” I add, placing my hand over his.

“Well yes but I’m not carrying them.”

“I can’t even imagine what you would look like while pregnant.”

A good while later, once we have already felt a shaking that makes me whimper and makes the twins calm down, Coin’s voice, perhaps a shade grimmer, fills the bunker, the volume level flickering with the lights. “Apparently, Peeta Mellark’s information was sound and we owe him a great debt of gratitude. Sensors indicate the first missile was not nuclear, but very powerful. We expect more will follow. For the duration of the attack, citizens are to stay in their assigned areas unless otherwise notified.”

Immediately after her announcement, Vivi and Garrick practically materialize beside us. “Okay, Morgan, time for your ultrasound. Ready to find out the genders of your twins?”

I nod excitedly as Finnick gets up. Garrick starts up the ultrasound machine while Vivi checks my heart rate and blood pressure. “Looks good... the wand, please.” Garrick hands Vivi the wand and she places some cool cream over my belly, before running the wand over my belly. She smiles, and looks up. “Were they kicking before this?”

“Yep, a lot,” Finnick answers.

“Good. They are nice and active. Let’s see....” On the little screen, I can’t really tell what’s what, but Vivi certainly can. She moves the wand around and hums, then moves it again, before removing the wand and wiping off the cream. Garrick powers off the machines and we look up anxiously.

“I don’t remember which one of you was right,” Vivi starts, “but one of you was. Congratulations. A boy and a girl.”


	37. Chapter 37

Finnick is initially frozen in place. I can see his mouth trembling like it is threatening to drop open, but it doesn’t.

“Finnick,” I say softly, a wide smile on my face. “Finnick, are you okay?”

He nods slowly, and covers his mouth. For an instant I think he might faint, until he yells loud enough to startle everyone around us and throws his arms around me. “A boy and a girl! A boy and a girl! We got the matching set!”

Vivi and Garrick share a look as they watch Finnick begin to cry. I’m unsure why exactly he is crying, until he pulls away and dips down to lay his head gently over my large tummy, his arms wrapping around it. “Two babies, a boy and a girl. Two beautiful babies.”

“We’ll let you be for now,” Vivi says, putting the machines away completely. “If you need anything, we will be nearby.”

She and Garrick walk away, and I reach my hand down to stroke Finnick’s hair. I don’t know exactly what he’s whispering to my belly, but he’s definitely saying something. 

I’m beyond excited, though clearly Finnick must be even more than that. I think perhaps because I understand the dynamics of male and female siblings better, I am feeling happy but fairly normal. Meanwhile, Finnick never had a sibling.

Finally, he sits up and cups my face (not as gently as I would have expected, though I don’t mind) and pulls me in for a hard kiss. It catches me by surprise, and before I can put my hands on his shoulders, he pulls me onto his lap.

“Finnick, I’m going to crush you, I’m so heavy now,” I breathe as I pull away from the kiss, my hand going to caress his cheek.

“I don’t care,” he says, leaning forward to press his forehead against mine. “Besides, I just carried the three of you down a billion flights of stairs.”

“That you did,” I notice as he fastens his hands to my hips, then slides them up to rub over my belly. “If I remember correctly, you were essentially holding all of me on one arm only.”

“Was I?” He chuckles airily, dipping down briefly to kiss my lips again. 

“Yes, you’re very strong,” I note, giggling ever so slightly.

“I’m so happy, Morgan. I’m happy,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “We’re going to have a handsome baby boy and a gorgeous baby girl.”

“Mmm we definitely will make some cute babies,” I say.

“We have made some cute babies,” he corrects me. “We just haven’t met them yet. Wow... wow... a little Morgan and a little me. It’s so perfect.”

“I bet you feel extra proud now,” I murmur. “Because of everything.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh yeah. Totally. I scored two, very quickly, and they’re now one of each. Nice little set of babies.”

“At least we won’t have trouble telling them apart,” I offer. 

“True. What ideas do you have for names? Because I have a suggestion.”

“I was talking with Katniss about it the other day... but I don’t have any exact idea. What’s yours?”

“Well... we can give each one a name from your sibling and our district partners from this Quell. Devan Blight and Mags Gretchen or something.”

I blush, and wrap my arms around Finnick’s shoulders. “You’re sure? We don’t have to name them after my siblings.”

“I want us to. In any combination. Just... Mags is a very short name. I wonder if we could make it a longer name and have that be her nickname.”

“Well... my mother’s name was Margaret. We could say the nickname for that is Mags,” I offer.

“That works perfectly,” Finnick replies, grinning as he pulls away from me. “Margaret Gretchen. There’s our little girl’s name.”

“Maybe Devan Blight for our boy? Just to alternate the order of the names?” I suggest.

“Absolutely perfect,” Finnick whispers. 

By the time I manage to fall asleep on top of our double mattress, curled up in Finnick’s arms, I’m smiling like an idiot, and I’m entering the world of dreams where everything is happy. 

________

Over the next three days, Finnick and I wait along with the rest of Thirteen to be released from the bunker, because missiles won’t stop falling.

Four more missiles hit over the three day period. Very massive and damaging, enough to shake us up, but it doesn’t lead to an attack. It’s like they are meant to cripple us and scare us, but not exactly destroy us. Finnick deduces that because they are spread out so that just when you think it’s over, another one hits, it is just meant to decimate Thirteen. The Capitol still needs what lies inside here, and destroying it would defeat the purpose.

Of course, that also means we get no information about it all. Any audio updates from the president are brief, and the screens are consistently off. Katniss reckons that war is being waged, but it’s not like we’re allowed to know the status of it all.

It seems we are doing well though (at least, as well as we can be). We still have to adhere to strict meal schedules as well as bathing, exercise, and sleep, but everyone cooperates. I can walk decently well now, and I’m being given bigger meal portions. It’s nice that we get to socialize too, because I’ve finally gotten to know more people. Mothers that give me tips. Fathers that give Finnick tips. Sometimes, Finnick and I walk over to Katniss’s space, which is quite popular because of Buttercup. They made up a game called ‘Crazy Cat’ where they wiggle a flashlight beam around for Buttercup to try and catch, which is clever entertainment especially for those who don’t know much about pets.

I like that we have this miniscule opportunity for entertainment. The power comes and goes, so it can be eerie, and of course sometimes the twins move too much for me to handle, which makes distraction very much appreciated.

One night, as Finnick holds my belly in his sleep, I hear movement and look up, only to see that Katniss has made her way to our bunk.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask her softly.

“No. Can you wake Finnick?”

I squirm ever so slightly. I find Finnick is actually a really heavy sleeper. I couldn’t tell before because I would sleep so much that I hardly paid attention, and prior to coming to even entering the Quell, Finnick and I didn’t share a bed or even a room. Now, it dawns on me how difficult it is to wake him.

“Finnick,” I whisper. “Finnick…”

I squirm again, to no avail. He lets out a light snore and tightens his grip on my belly. I move my hands down over his and remove them, which makes him whine. Katniss lets out a small, amused snort, and I groan, before having to elbow him. 

“Ouch!” Finnick sits up and looks at me indignantly. “I’m sleeping!”

“Not anymore. Katniss wants to talk to you.”

Finnick looks at Katniss with a bored expression. “I was sleeping.”

“Yes, I saw,” she grumbles as she sits on the floor in front of us. I move to sit down, my feet dangling off the bed. Finnick does the same, rubbing his eyes. He gives my belly a small pat before facing Katniss. “What’s wrong?”

Katniss is about to say something, but hesitates to start. “I can go,” I offer, thinking maybe it’s something only Finnick can help her with.

“No,” Katniss says immediately. “It’s okay. Just… I’ve been thinking about Peeta and how they’re using them. I thought about what they’re doing to Finnick with Annie.”

Finnick’s expression is sad. I know he must be worried sick about her, but every time I ask, he insists he doesn’t need to talk about it. I make sure he understands that he can talk about it all he needs, because she’s his best friend and I respect that. Still, he refuses to talk to me about it. However, now that Katniss is here, he seems more keen to discuss it, probably because he can actually relate. 

“The thing is, they didn't arrest her because they thought she'd be a wealth of rebel information," he says. "They know I'd never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection. They wanted her at first, but when Morgan came to tell me about Plutarch’s plan, I kept Annie out of it. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about it all. How they were using Peeta."

"You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft,” Katniss replies. She looks saddened. “Only when you said they'd use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow.”

"I shouldn't have said even that,” Finnick tells her, taking my hand and squeezing it. “It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn't warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should've shut up about how Snow operates. It's just that I didn't understand when I met you. After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act on your part. We all expected you'd continue that strategy. Especially once Haymitch and Plutarch proposed that Morgan and I pretend to be a couple, I had it firm in my head that it was an act. But it wasn't until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I knew I’d misjudged you. That you do love him. I'm not saying in what way. Maybe you don't know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him.”

Katniss looks down, and she sighs softly. For a while, she says nothing, and Finnick simply keeps caressing the back of my hand. Then: “How do you bear it?” she asks. “Knowing they have Annie?”

Finnick’s hand abruptly tightens its grip on mine. “It helps to have a distraction. Thinking about Morgan and my children. Knowing Annie will be their godmother when they’re born. I used to be pessimistic… Morgan can tell you that herself. I was cynical and if I didn’t have this situation, I’d still be having nightmares. But now… since I’m about to become a father, I learned to cling to hope better. To be optimistic. Distractions will help you not give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart." He reaches under our bunk and extracts a rope. “Try and make knots or something. It will help you.”

Katniss then leaves, and Finnick looks away from me.

“Finnick,” I say, putting my hand on his back. “Talk to me.”

“I just… I don’t know how to express how I really feel. I keep holding everything back. To talk about Annie after…”

“Finnick, she’s your best friend,” I tell him as he lays down, staring at the top of the bunk. “I know you love her. I’m worried about her too. Her and Johanna. I’m sorry that I haven’t been there for you to talk about it.”

“Don’t blame yourself for that, Morgan,” He replies immediately. “I chose not to talk about it because you were dealing with the pain of the procedure. You have helped me so much. Even when I hurt you, you gave me a chance and eventually forgave me, and you supported me in the arena. Helped me recover once we arrived here. You’ve been focused on being a wonderful mother for our children. You tried to help me many times and I refused. It’s not your fault.”

I sigh and lay down with him, putting my hand on his chest. “But aside from being a good mother I want to be a good girlfriend. I worry, Finnick. I should be asking you how you are more often. I want to listen.”

He lets out a puff of air. “I’m scared, Morgan. Scared I’ll lose Annie. I know you understand loss like that. It terrifies me. I already lost Mags. Annie is the last family from District Four. And then with everything else… I get scared they’ll try to hurt you and our kids. We may not be the main focus, but what if they make you be the Mockingjay as soon as you give birth? Katniss is not okay, she’s not. I try to cling to hope and distract myself but sometimes it’s just so hard…”

I move to lay my head on his shoulder, and start to rub circles around his chest. “I’ve never been too good at consoling anyone,” I admit, “but after so long… I find that what helps me is to not necessarily hope, but believing. I may have lost my family, but I gained you. And I believe that in just a matter of months, we will be sitting in a comfortable home, celebrating the end of this war, at a table with Johanna, Annie, Katniss, Peeta, Gale, and our babies. I believe it. That makes me continue, because as long as I keep firm that it is going to happen, I keep myself from feeling too devastated.”

“Do you think they will all be okay?” Finnick asks softly. “Truly?”

“I do,” I whisper. “No hesitation.”

Finnick nods slowly, then raises an eyebrow. “Technically, isn’t your ‘believing’ still hope?”

”Yes,” I admit sheepishly. “Kind of. Sorry, I’m not the best with words.”

”Well at any rate, it still helped calm me down a bit,” he says in a bit of a happier tone, before kissing my forehead and putting his hand back on my belly.

The day we are finally able to leave, I find Finnick’s spirits have shifted up. There is talk that they will be doing a mission of sorts, but Vivi and Garrick quickly tell Finnick he won’t be able to participate.

“We have reached the most delicate stage,” Vivi begins as we get comfortable once again in our hospital room. It is all intact, and the machines are once again brought in. “Morgan, your body will be ready to give birth very soon, possibly starting tomorrow.”

“What exactly does that mean for the procedure?” I ask, a tad uncertain. “Will the procedure run through until I’m ready to give birth?” 

“We had to change the course of it a bit, and recalculate everything after those past four days in the bunker. Your body is operating much more on its own accord now than it was, because it managed to settle without the medication. We believe the best course of option is to have you be on the medication just for today, and wean you off of it at the end of tomorrow, to complete eight months for you. Then, we could have you walk around a bit. I think that may be sufficient to encourage your body to go into labor.”

“And then what happens?” Finnick inquires. “If we have her walk around and she goes into labor? Do we return here and that’s it? No other medication? They will be ready?”

“Again, many twins are born prematurely, and because of the medication, we estimate they will indeed be ready to come out tomorrow, though they will be held off because of the medication. That will give them a chance to choose their date of birth. If the bombing hadn’t happened, the procedure would have run exactly, smoothly, and we would have induced you into labor at our convenience. But we think it is best your body and babies decide because of the days it got a chance to settle.”

“Alright,” I say, looking at Finnick, who nods slowly. “Let’s do it.”

Vivi and Garrick have their team move forward, and I am once again poked and prodded with needles. In the past four days, I forgot what it was like. I wince as I lay back, and Finnick stays rooted firmly at my side. Once they have managed to get all my machines hooked up, Vivi claps to herself. 

“Good, all good,” she says in relief. “Okay, well, back to your dieting, Morgan.”

“I’ll go get the food,” Finnick says, smiling as he leans down to kiss my forehead. “You’ll be okay for a bit?”

After our talk, he seems more keen to be able to leave me alone. He’s likely practicing ‘believing’ that I’ll be okay without him for five minutes.

“I’ll be good,” I promise, which makes him trot out excitedly.

Vivi and Garrick leave, and for a second, I just relax and lean back, closing my eyes.

I can practically visualize it. Myself, holding to little creatures. They probably wouldn’t necessarily bear any resemblance to Finnick or I, because face it, they’re babies, but they’d be the cutest little things, making little baby noises. Finnick would be laying next to me, his arms tucked under mine so we’re both holding the twins. 

“I volunteered.”

My eyes snap open, and I sit up immediately, only to see Misha in the doorway. “Excuse me?” I say right away. Before the procedure, Finnick and I were both worried that he might come in to rile me up, but he hasn’t at this point. 

Until now.

“I volunteered,” he says again. He steps forward, his eyes blazing with fury. I don’t know who or what made him mad. I hope it’s not directed at me. “For the mission.”

“I-I don’t know what the mission is about,” I admit, feeling my heart starting to beat faster as he approaches me. 

“It’s a rescue.” He says it with a dry chuckle, which sends a chill down my spine. “To rescue Peeta Mellark. Annie Cresta. Johanna Mason. I volunteered for it.”

“What?” I whisper. When did they decide that? “Why… why did you volunteer?”

“To show you I fucking care,” he sneers. Definitely doesn’t sound like he cares when he speaks like that. “You’re about to have two kids with that bronze boy. It’s a mistake.”

“If you’re here to threaten me and my children, you will leave,” I say, immediately putting my hands over my stomach.

Misha laughs again, and comes so close he’s now directly beside me. “Can’t you see I care? I’m going to rescue your friends. Oh wait… are you unhappy because I’m helping bring back your boyfriend’s side girl? That’s who Annie Cresta is, hmm?”

“She’s not Finnick’s side girl,” I snap defensively. I feel unbelievably agitated, more than I did in the bunker. “She’s his best friend, almost like his sister, and she’s also my friend.”

“You’re blind!” Misha snarls. Suddenly, he slams his hands down on the railing of my bed, and I let out a squeak, shutting my eyes. “What the hell is the matter with you, Morgan? You make my head hurt! I love you, I want you, and you’re with him! Why?”

“Misha, you need to leave,” I say fearfully. Why is no one rushing in? I’m afraid to scream for help. Can no one hear him making an outburst?

“NO! Pay attention to me! Understand that I want you!” His eyes are wild. His behavior is so erratic, I don’t even understand it. It’s like he suddenly got into a frenzy.

I start to remember how I noticed that Misha’s behavior was similar to Peeta’s, especially after he warned us we were to be bombed. What did it mean? What was going on inside their heads? Why was their behavior sporadic and crazed?

“Misha, you’re not yourself,” I say quietly as he leans over to sneer in my face. “You’re not…”

“YES I AM!” he roars. “THIS IS WHO I AM! THIS IS WHO YOU MADE ME! IT’S YOUR FAULT THAT I’M LIKE THIS! I ACTED FOR YOU AND THEY DID THIS TO ME! WHAT I AM IS BECAUSE OF YOU!”

“Then why the hell do you want me?” I shriek, cowering away from him. “Misha please, move away, please…”

Misha is about to yell something, but he stops, like he lost his train of thought. He steps away, and his eyes begin to dart all over the room. I finally notice that Vivi and her team are at the door, but they are wide eyed, and clearly have no idea what to do. All the soldiers are probably with Coin anyway.

The crowd parts as Misha stumbles back. Finnick moves forward and seizes him, yanking his arms behind his back, then pulling him out the door. Vivi rushes to me immediately, and I choke out a sob I had been holding back. I can hear some faint yelling, like perhaps Misha is fighting against Finnick.

But I don’t hear exactly what it is that they are saying, because Vivi abruptly gives an order to put me to sleep for now.


	38. Chapter 38

When I wake up, I groan, feeling more tired despite the fact I’m probably very well rested.

I turn to look at the nearest clock, and find it reads seven in the morning. I am taken aback before realizing what must have happened after Vivi put me to sleep.

I slept. A lot.

Now, it is definitely the next day. I turn, and see that Finnick is sleeping in the chair beside my bed, his hair messy. I reach my hand out and caress his head to smooth his hair back, and his nose twitches slightly. I giggle, and he just makes a face.

I let Finnick sleep, instead occupying myself with examining my stomach, which has since yesterday become bigger. I look about ready to pop. I think that if a needle were to be pressed against it, the babies would almost immediately explode out.

By the time Finnick eases himself awake an hour later, I have preoccupied myself with braiding my own hair like it used to be. “You didn’t wake me,” he notes.

“No, you were sleeping,” I tell him gently. “You looked tired. Hair all mushed.”

“Ah, yes. I was tugging at it a bit yesterday. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What happened with Misha?”

“I led him out and he looked really stunned at first, but then he started yelling and trying to get away. Luckily, Coin had just dismissed a meeting, so some soldiers met me in the hall. Strange thing was, he started crying right as soon as they arrived. He kept insisting he was sorry. He even begged me for forgiveness. The soldiers took him to his room after that so I didn’t get to say or do anything else.”

“I see,” I say quietly. “Jeez… I don’t know why he’s acting like that.”

“Me neither, and it seems no one else has figured it out. Doctors here are puzzled, according to Boggs. Say he’s really between moods. But they don’t seem to know what it is. I heard that they had treated him for that when he first arrived, and they thought he was okay, but it’s like seeing you around now is triggering everything.”

“So it’s my fault,” I breathe. “I triggered something. Crap…. What the hell did they do to him?”

“Whatever it was, he can’t remember anything exactly, so they’re at a loss in terms of figuring it out. It’s terrible. I feel sorry for him sometimes. But not when he comes in here startling you like that. Vivi had to put you to sleep because the babies were getting agitated.”

“Thank goodness she did… otherwise that might have caused problems.”

“Exactly. The good news is they will be guarding better to make sure he doesn’t come in again, though there’s hardly a point since we’re almost done here and he’s been confined to his room. He was supposed to leave just an hour after he came here for that rescue mission. They booted him out after they heard what he did. Gale went.”

“He did?” I whisper. “Oh wow… Katniss must not be feeling great.”

“Ah yes… Haymitch came by early in the morning to tell me she has been worried because if it fails, she will lose both Peeta and Gale. He said Plutarch wants us to be available at noon for helping him film something. It would be in here though, so you can rest.”

“I’m up for that,” I say. “If it will help, we can do it. Will Katniss come?”

“Yes, Haymitch is using it as a task to distract her. But…” he stops.

“But what?” I ask. “What else did Haymitch say? What did Plutarch want from us?”

“The thing is…” Finnick seems to have difficulty putting it into words. “I want to talk about it, but it’s also something so private.”

“He wants us to tell some sort of story?” I inquire.

“Yes. About the prostitution.”

I freeze, and feel the color draining from my face. Long ago, I hated that no one could understand. Hated that I had been forced into that. Now, I didn’t give it much thought because I was here and I was free, but thinking back on it made me nervous. I should have felt excited. But really, thinking of the fact we could finally talk about what we had suffered, what we had been forced into…

“I want to do it,” I blurt out. “We… we have to.”

“No, we don’t have to, Haymitch gave us an out.”

“But don’t you see? We can give them something to look up to. Finnick… they know us, they knew I was pregnant. We can give them so much to think about if we reveal how our twins survived and how WE survived. How we came together because of that.”

Finnick takes it in, and nods. “True… Haymitch said it was mostly to expose Snow. But now that I consider it… we could give them a hell of a good love story to put out there. Shows perseverance. Strength.” He looks at me and takes my hand. “If you’re comfortable talking about it, I’m very willing to do it with you. I’m fine leading the presentation about it, since I did it for so many more years.”

“Are you sure? I can try and lead it if it’s too much.”

“It’s not too much. I’ve been wanting to talk about it for YEARS. You and Johanna were the only ones I could talk about it to. Like I said, it’s just so private. Us giving up our bodies. Talking about how they dressed us and made us learn those techniques.” Then he gritted his teeth. “How they made you do even more disgusting things with those hotshot Capitolians that Snow forced you to work with… it makes me sick. In my years they never made me do such vile things.”

“It’s because I was a woman,” I sigh, rubbing his arm. “But I survived. And I want to talk about it. It is private, but it’s our story and we have a right to tell the truth. To show that we didn’t have any lovers in the Capitol aside from each other.”

Finnick nods, and leans forward to press his lips softly against mine. I smile and kiss back, though our kiss is cut short by Vivi coming in to check on me again.

Later that day, Katniss is brought in alongside a video team as well as Haymitch, Plutarch, and Cressida.

“How did you meet Peeta?” Cressida asks her as she sits down, looking toward a camera.

"When I met Peeta, I was eleven years old, and I was almost dead." She begins to talk about how she was trying to sell baby clothes in the rain, and admits that Peeta’s mother chased her from the bakery door. She tells us all how he took a beating to bring her some loaves of bread to save her and her family’s lives. "We had never even spoken,” Katniss says quietly. “The first time I ever talked to Peeta was on the train to the Games." 

"But he was already in love with you," says Cressida.

“I guess so,” Katniss replies with a small smile. Finnick and I give her a thumbs up as encouragement. 

"How are you doing with the separation?" Cressida asks. 

"Not well. I know at any moment Snow could kill him. Especially since he warned Thirteen about the bombing. It's a terrible thing to live with," Katniss says. "But because of what they're putting him through, I don't have any reservations anymore. About doing whatever it takes to destroy the Capitol. I'm finally free." She looks up at the ceiling. "President Snow once admitted to me that the Capitol was fragile. At the time, I didn't know what he meant. It was hard to see clearly because I was so afraid. Now I'm not. The Capitol's fragile because it depends on the districts for everything. Food, energy, even the Peacekeepers that police us. If we declare our freedom, the Capitol collapses. President Snow, thanks to you, I'm officially declaring mine today."

It is that statement alone that makes her segment so extraordinary. The whole crew is in love with the bread story, and Plutarch looks thrilled at what she said about Snow.

Then, it is our turn.

Katniss looks confused as Haymitch and Plutarch remind us that we don’t have to do this. I know that she as well as many other victors had no idea what President Snow was actually doing to us. But we are ready to speak out.

“President Snow used to… sell us,” Finnick begins once the camera starts rolling. “Our bodies.” He swallows hard, and squeezes my hand. “We weren’t the only ones. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it." 

I notice he is tensing, so I take over. “Finnick and I weren’t the only ones,” I continue. “But we were definitely the most popular. The day I returned to home from my Games, President Snow threatened me into it. He threatened to kill six people I was close to. Two of them, my stylists. One, the mother of a dear friend of mine. And the last three… the family of Griffin Allardyce, who you all remember was my partner in the arena. When I was forced to start just a month after my Games, there were a total of five of us. I was new, barely turned eighteen, and inexperienced. You know who my first task was after my training? Seneca Crane. Because according to President Snow, the arena my year had been too easy.”

Finnick decides it is his turn once again. “Morgan and I were the items he gave away most often, to the most important of people. Perhaps it was because we were the most defenseless, and he could manipulate us easily. You heard who he used against Morgan. He used my mentor and best friend against me. He could trade us without much argument from us because we were willing to sacrifice our dignity for our loved ones.” He pauses, and looks down. “When I began, I was seventeen. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment, and soon it became what Morgan and I used as currency, meaning Snow got the money.”

He pauses again, taking his hand to rub over my belly. He looks at me and I nod, because I know it means he wants to take over. It is only right, because almost all the secrets essentially went to Finnick. “Secrets,” he echoes. "And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others." 

As Finnick begins to speak, I feel chills running down my spine. It’s like he’s creating a masterpiece, a building made of the finest material, holding details so specific that there is not a doubt it is authentic. He talks about the strangest sexual appetites our customers had, including some I experienced, which he notes. He discusses tales of betrayals, greed, power plays. 

Then it is my turn, and I start to add to the list of names that Finnick is exposing. I reveal confessions made over rumpled sheets and damp pillow cases. I talk about how back stabbing, incestuous, disgusting carnal the Capitolian citizens are. How some are murderers and arsonists. How they blackmailed others, how we were sometimes the ones delivering blackmail in between grinding our bodies against strange places and objects for the amusement of our patrons. 

"And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow," says Finnick once I am done. He leans forward, and his eyes are narrowed in a challenging manner. "Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. Poison."

Finnick begins to explain events I never knew much about. He works up to the present by going back to how he rose the political ranks. He discusses mysterious deaths of Snow’s adversaries and allies, all those who had at one point become potential threats. “Think of it,” he muses in a serious, ominous tone. “Those who randomly dropped dead at feasts. Those who inexplicably declined into the shadows over the course of a few months. They said it was bad shellfish. A virus that was too elusive. An overlooked weakness in the aorta. Can you imagine? Snow himself drank from the poisoned cup to deflect suspicion. Alas… antidotes don't always work. They say that's why he wears the roses that reek of perfume. They say it's to cover the scent of blood from the mouth sores that will never heal.”

They say, they say, they say… Finnick continues until even I’m completely shocked by what I didn’t know. Snow most definitely has a list and no one knows who will be next, no one knows who is even on it. Of course he would choose poison, as it is the excellent weapon for a snake to use.

When Finnick is done, the cameras keep rolling. Everyone is paralyzed in disbelief. Katniss is looking at us in a new light. Slowly, I sit up, and move to kiss Finnick’s cheek.

“What we have told you,” I say quietly toward the camera, “is so you know the truth of what the President does behind closed doors. Some of you are still blindly believing that he is right. That he cares. He doesn’t care. The reason there weren’t more people working with us was because they refused and their families were killed. Simple. Our bodies didn’t belong to us. So before you think about supporting any claim of his, remember that you are dealing with a snake, and snakes are as two faced as a creature can get without being labeled as abnormal.” 

Despite the cameras still being on, Finnick leans onto my shoulder, and lets out a shaky breath. I forget that we had intended to mention how we are okay, how we are going to have our family. It doesn’t matter. The cameras will see me in the hospital bed, and they will see my belly. What matters now is that they have finally, firsthand had a chance to see what Snow has done. 

“Cut,” Finnick says after a long silence, since they still haven’t cut the cameras. Immediately, the crew turns them off and runs away to edit the footage.

________

Hours later, the propos are being aired. Katniss’s segment keeps being cut out, but it seems that Finnick and I’s part is one that even the Capitolians don’t want to miss. Either Beetee’s skill is improving, or even they are interested in watching, and don’t want to tune Finnick and I out.

For an entire sixty minutes, the Capitol feed alternates between their standard afternoon newscast and Finnick and I. The Capitol tries to black it out entirely, but somehow the rebel technological team manages to override it, and the entire attack on Snow from Finnick plays continuously.

After the propo, all that there is left to do is wait for news on the rescue mission. Just hours later, Vivi and Garrick come in to wean me off the medicine.

“You’ll be able to do the rest of your waiting near Command,” Vivi says pleasantly. “That way you can be near Coin if there are updates, and you can walk and entertain yourself.”

“Awesome,” Finnick speaks for me as I am once again disconnected from machines. I know I looked ready to pop before, but after this entire day, I _feel_ incredibly ready to pop. Garrick and Vivi take their time, and soon, I am free to move. Finnick eases me onto my feet and helps me get dressed. As soon as my shoes are on, Vivi squeals.

“This is so exciting!” she shrieks. “Soon, very soon, you’ll be able to see your babies!” 

She abruptly moves forward to hug me, which catches me by surprise. She must be very happy the procedure worked.

“Thank you so much,” I whisper in her ear. “For everything. You too, Garrick, and everyone else.”

“Of course,” he says with a grin. Vivi simply sobs in response, and Finnick pats her back while leaning forward to shake Garrick’s hand.

We find that we don’t have to wait too long near Command. In the time that it takes us to ease me toward the waiting area near it, and what with Katniss asking us a million questions about the babies, we find that soon, Haymitch is coming to give us news.

“They’re back,” he says, looking excited. “We’re wanted in the hospital.”

Okay, back to the hospital, it seems.

Katniss immediately begins to ask more questions, but Haymitch puts his hand up. “That’s all I know. Come on.”

I expect Katniss to bolt out, but she’s still processing everything, so she takes the time to walk there slowly and steadily with Finnick and I. Finnick looks very excited, and I find I am too. Johanna and Annie will be here with us, and safe now.

We move through Special Defense, into the elevator that goes this way and that, then back to the hospital we just left from less than five hours ago. The place is in an uproar, with doctors shouting orders and the wounded being wheeled through the halls in their beds. I think Vivi is somewhere among them, but I can’t tell. 

A gurney almost crashes into me, and my eyes widen seeing the unconscious, emaciated woman laying in it. Her head is shaved and her flesh shows bruises and oozing scabs.

“Johanna,” I say, my voice sounding like a hoarse whisper. “JOHANNA!”

But she can’t hear me, and Finnick has to catch me as I sway. “You can’t see her now,” he says as calmly as he can, though I can feel that he is incredibly tense, and worried.

Suddenly, however, someone collides with us with a loud squeal.

“Annie!” Finnick cries. She’s in nothing but a sheet, and her hair is tangled, but she is not injured. She throws her arms around the both of us and starts giggling and cheering like a child. “Finnick and Morgan! Finnick and Morgan!” 

She pulls away, her eyes wide. “Missed you, so!” She throws her arms around just me for an instant, and rubs my back like she’s still wondering if I’m real. “Knew you would be with him!” she says happily. “Wanted you to be! With babies!” she dips down so she’s practically kneeling before me. She holds my stomach tenderly and starts laughing, and I can see from the look of Finnick’s face, this is a good thing. She’s reacting positively to everything. They didn’t hurt her.

Soon, she leaps up and wraps her arms tightly around Finnick, burying her face in his chest. I can see he’s crying as he hugs her back and holds her tenderly in his arms. Annie is shaking, maybe from the fact she is way too overloaded with happiness at the moment.

In the second it takes me to check on Katniss, an injured Boggs has materialized next to her and is announcing that Peeta is going to wake up soon.

Katniss looks at me, and I know from the way her eyes plead that she wants me to come with her.

I take the opportunity since Finnick and Annie are embracing, and take her hand to follow her and Haymitch to Peeta’s room.

“I’m… I’m excited,” she admits, squeezing my hand. This is the happiest I’ve seen her since we got out of the arena. “Wow…” she lets out a small laugh. “Well he’s probably going to be kissing me more than he’ll talk… ecstatic no matter what I do.” She grins and makes a small noise that I take to be an enthusiastic sigh/squeak. “I can’t wait to see him…”

As we approach his room, I see that Peeta is already awake, and sitting on the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse.

I can tell Katniss is disappointed that her face wasn’t the first he saw when he woke. He sees us, and his eyes fixate on Katniss. 

Somehow, something feels wrong.His features register disbelief and something more... intense. Desire? Desperation? Maybe both, because it’s Katniss, but something about it is extremely unsettling. I’m about to tell her to wait for a second before she approaches him, but he’s already leapt up to run toward her. Katniss immediately runs to him, her arms outstretched to embrace him, and they meet just feet away from me.

But when instead of cupping her face to kiss her, Peeta’s hands lock around her throat, a visceral reaction overwhelms my body, and the sheer terror alone of seeing Katniss being choked to death by the boy she loves makes my water break.


	39. Chapter 39

The instant that Peeta and Katniss have been pried apart, someone pulls me into a wheelchair and takes me full speed to the delivery room.

I am in shock. I can hardly breathe, and my vision is blurred as they take me to where I’m going to finally give birth to our twins.

“Is she— Is Katniss—?” I choke, holding my stomach as a sharp pain stabs against my gut.

“She’s going to be okay.” I’m not sure who answers me. The familiarity of the voice strikes the thought that it might be Vivi, but I can’t be certain.

Within minutes, I have been moved onto a hospital bed once more, but this time I’m not hooked up to every last machine and wire that exists in the room. Doctors are swarming around me, and I can see them taking out an ultrasound machine, though there is not much I can really take in about what they are saying.

So far, it seems okay.

But nothing is truly okay. I’m horrified. Peeta launched himself onto Katniss with the intention of killing her, of ripping out her last breath himself. What did they do to him that turned him into a manic, vicious man instead of the kind boy she described when she told us all the bread story less than ten hours ago? 

Soon enough, I am able to gather my bearings and register what is actually happening. Yes, Vivi is in the room, and she is commanding her team left and right. I can feel they’re undressing me, but I don’t complain, because now the contractions are beginning.

“I want to say I’m sorry in advance,” Vivi calls to me as her team swarms her and suddenly dresses her for the delivery. Perfectly coordinated, they tie her hair up, put a cap and mask on her, give her a special drape and slide on her sterile gloves. “Your contractions are going to be very close together and painful. I wasn’t thinking this would happen this way.”

“It’s fine,” I manage as I suddenly let out a scream, holding my belly as I feel another sharp pain, like I am once again being stabbed in the thigh by Enobaria’s knife as she threatened to cut my twins out before we knew there were two of them. 

Finnick practically materializes at my side after that. I see they have dressed him similar to Vivi, except he doesn’t get the gloves. He swoops in and takes my hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I stayed with Annie because I thought you’d be okay with Katniss and next thing—“

I scream again, cutting him off. “I-It’s okay,” I choke, my throat already feeling raw. “N-Not your fault.”

Finnick is about to speak again, when another pain hits me, and this time I curse loudly as my body instinctively arches back against the bed. I cry out in pain once more, and Finnick squeezes my hand in reassurance.

“Good news,” Vivi says as soon as I have quieted down. “You’re dilating very well. A natural birth will be good for you and the babies, okay Morgan?”

All I can do is nod, because I feel the need to start crying. I recall feeling pain before, when the procedure started, and even more when I was injured in the arena both times. But this is entirely different. It feels as though someone has ripped a beam off a building and slammed it against my back. It hurts to sit and lay down, but I have no choice but to alternate between both positions as I am checked and soothed between contractions. I only have a few minutes of peace in between each one. It’s like my twins have taken on a District Thirteen persona and are starting a nuclear war inside me. It hurt me sometimes when they kicked. Now it is like they are trying to kill me from within, which I know they aren’t actually trying to do.

“Breathe,” Finnick whispers in my ear as he strokes my hair.

“I am breathing!” I say immediately, feeling my nostrils flaring from how hard I’m puffing out air.

“I know you are, but slower.” His voice is shaky, like he is both trying to hold back a laugh and extremely terrified. “Follow me…” he takes in air slowly, and I attempt to imitate him, only to cry out in pain again and shut my eyes.

“He’s right, honey, focus on your breathing.” I don’t even feel like looking at Vivi as she’s setting my legs up. I don’t care, I just want these two little creatures out of me. As much as I love them, they’re not doing me any service by staying inside. I can’t imagine the poor mothers who did this for hours on end. My mother told me she was in labor with Devan for the entire day, and he refused to come out until their last resort was to extract him. She recalled it as being the messiest thing she’s ever seen. 

It’s moments like these when I miss my mother tremendously. In a just world, she would be on the other side of me, soothing me along with Finnick. She would have helped prepare me for this day, given me tips on how to withstand the pain that I feel, the backbreaking sensation that consistently is making me wonder how people willingly choose to have more than three children sometimes.

I have only ever seen one birth, and I did not learn enough from it. I was just eight then, and it was during a storm that meant not many could come help. My job was simply to keep passing my mother anything she asked for while she acted as a midwife. My father had been busy with the woman’s husband trying to keep the shabby house from falling apart midway through the birth. The worst part was the poor child didn’t live more than a few hours; it had been doomed long before, but our district didn’t necessarily have ultrasounds available, especially not on our end of the town.

“H-How much longer?” I cry before gritting my teeth hard, squeezing Finnick’s hand so hard that his fingers crack. The same storm that raged our forests that night is now happening inside my womb. All the pain makes me wonder if my twins are even okay. How is this much discomfort a normal thing?

I remember years ago when I met Daphne, she had told me that she was thankful she couldn’t have kids. Said they were an unnecessary mountain of pain and an inconvenience because she and the rest of us were poor as it was. She told me she would never make a child suffer in our world, never would do them the disservice of forcing them to coexist in a place like Panem.

“What’s the use of it all?” she had said. “For them to grow up like we did and work in mills? You’re lucky to be a runner, you at least see the outside more often. Some of us are in the factory for so many hours we start to forget what the sun looks like. Look at Misha. Pale as milk.”

Alright, so thinking of Misha was a terrible idea.

Now I can’t help but be worried. Of course, it’s good I’m now thinking of anything other than my contractions, but Misha isn’t the one I want to occupy my mind. What of Peeta? What of Katniss? Why is Misha treating me like Peeta did to Katniss? Why did her presence trigger him, when he loved her so much just months ago? Why did my arrival lead Misha to have a breakdown? What is in their heads that made them fear us, hate us, want to hurt us?

It’s crazy to think that in another reality, I would be doing this with another man, maybe Misha. If I hadn’t been reaped, he and I would have probably gotten married. We were dumb enough to fall into bed with each other knowing it was wrong. I would have turned eighteen soon after and knowing Misha, he would have proposed immediately. It would have been all we knew. There was no way I’d have married anyone else. Brannock was dead, and Misha was the only one there.

And what if Katniss and Peeta hadn’t won together that year? This wouldn’t have happened. If Misha and I had indeed gotten married during that time of the 73rd Hunger Games, by the 74th, we’d have been living together in his house. I’d visit Gretchen often to take her to school. Devan might have found a wife by then. Maybe by the 75th, that third Quarter Quell, I’d have been expecting, and we would have been watching the originally planned twist while holding a baby, and thinking of the dreadful day that our child would be old enough to be reaped.

Another contraction yanks me out of the great ‘What If’ that is plaguing me. I no longer want it as a distraction. 

I want my reality. 

“Alright, Morgan, time to push,” Vivi says. “You’re ready. One… two.. Now.”

I don’t know what the hell to actually ‘push’ so I just do the first thing that comes to mind, making me let out a pained scream. Finnick squeezes my hand, and leans over to kiss my forehead. “You’re so strong,” he whispers. “So amazing… I love you…”

This is what I want. This is what I got and I wouldn’t have it any other way. When I met Finnick, I never thought that I would end up being his friend, let alone the mother of his children. I thought he hated me. And after our whole ordeal that first year I was a mentor, I wouldn’t have expected our friendship to be rekindled. 

But it was. Haymitch and Plutarch put us together, and I found it in me to forgive him. We made a silly mistake that night we got drunk, and maybe sped it up a little too much when everything was still uncertain.

Now I lay here, pushing every time Vivi tells me to. Screaming in pain, but finding that every time I stop, Finnick is still there, still squeezing my hand and whispering reassuring words, thanking me for what I have been through with this procedure, and reminding me a thousand times that he loves me, that I am the only thing he needs in this life.

I couldn’t be more grateful about how it went down. It hurts me to think of what we all lost, what we had to sacrifice to get here, closer and closer to winning this war. But now it is looking up. In a year’s time, Finnick and I may be sitting in the sand, watching the waves roll onto the beach of District Four. Playing with us will be a beautiful little girl with his eyes and hair, and my attitude. Beside her will be a handsome boy with my eyes and hair, but Finnick’s personality. They will never have to know suffering, never have to know the fear of being reaped or losing their loved ones so brutally.

That is the reality I am in, that is the reality I want. In another world, it may have been different. But this is how it is, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

At long last, a final push makes me feel almost dead, and I slump back with a small gasp, my face beaded with sweat. I hear a buzzing in my ears, but slowly it subsides, and I hear not one, but two little cries filling the air.

“Congratulations, Morgan and Finnick,” Vivi says, a wide grin on her face. “Your twins are here.”

I begin to cry all over again. Finnick pulls me into his arms once more and kisses me everywhere he can— my mouth, my temple, my forehead, my cheek, my chin. I can’t really understand what he’s saying, but I think he is still repeating the words “thank you” and “I love you” between other statements.

By the time I am cleaned and checked on and am able to sit up, the twins have been through the same. I am propped up comfortably, and Finnick climbs into the bed beside me as Vivi comes and places two tiny little babies into our arms, wrapped in blankets and sporting the cutest little hats that the hospital has available.

Our son is still crying, and he wiggles around in search of us, his parents. Vivi places him in my arms and almost immediately, he stops, and relaxes, his rosy cheeks trembling as he stops sniffling.

Our daughter has been quiet, but the instant Vivi puts her in Finnick’s arms, she starts to excitedly squirm, already sensing she is in her father’s protective embrace. I can see Finnick is crying as he looks down at her. No doubt about it, he’s going to want to give them both every bit of the world that he can. 

I can still remember how just a month and a half ago, this adventure started.

_“I’m pregnant.”_

_The word must have hit Finnick like a missile because when I look up he’s white with shock. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many emotions on his face at once. He looks terrified, for one. Some part of me thinks maybe there’s happiness in there? But there is definitely a part that’s angry._

_“Are you joking?” He manages. I swear it’s like his face is about to melt off. “Are you— are you joking?”_

_“She’s not,” Blight says before I can answer._

_Finnick’s eyes widen even more, if that’s possible._

_“You’re...” He stammers. “With my...”_

_“Yes,” I say, my hands on instinct crossing over my belly. “And if you’re not happy about it then—“_

_“No!” He cries. “No— that’s not what I— I just— I never thought...”_

_His jaw locks and I can tell he’s full on angry now. “No. They can’t possibly let you compete.”_

_“Finnick—“_

_“No! You and Katniss shouldn’t compete!”_

_“You know they won’t let—“_

_“To hell with that!” He spits, and for a second I flinch. He’s actually furious. “You can’t go into that arena carrying our child.”_

_I put a cautious hand on his arm. For someone who’s killed so many people, I sure as hell am afraid of him. “Finnick, we can’t change it.”_

_“You could die. You and our baby and— no. I can’t lose you. Either of you. You— you matter way too much to me. I don’t think I could bear it at all if you died. It’d kill me Morgan— I wouldn’t be able to survive in a world you weren’t in. But to lose our baby too— no. It’s not going to fucking happen, I’m not going to let it.”_

_What he says hits me hard._

_He genuinely doesn’t want to lose me, and it’s the most touching thing in the midst of all this._

_I bite my lip and lead him to the elevator. “Finnick we have to go in tomorrow and just—“_

_“We’re going to talk about this,” he says. He’s fuming as the elevator goes up. Blight gets off on our floor but Finnick holds my hand desperately, like he’s afraid to let me go._

Thinking back to that moment makes me lean over and rest my head on Finnick’s shoulder as we bring our twins closer to each other.

“They’re so beautiful, Morgan,” he whispers. “They’re so small... “

“We made that,” I say in a shaky voice. I want to both laugh and keep crying.

“Yes we did…” he leans down and gives our daughter a kiss on the head before doing the same to our son. “Our little ones…”

“Have you got the names picked out?” Vivi asks, holding a clipboard.

I look at Finnick and nod. “Margaret Gretchen Odair and Devan Blight Odair.”

__________

It’s been a few hours and we still can’t get enough of the twins. Once we have all been checked again, Vivi tells us that we can probably go pay Katniss a visit.

“I just got off a rotation checking on Peeta,” Vivi says as she wheels me to Katniss’s room. I’m holding little Mags now while Finnick holds Devan. “It’s bad, Morgan. We found something out just a short while ago when Beetee came up. They’re going to tell Katniss now.”

“Is it okay for us to be there, then? If they’re going to give her bad news…”

“You should be there. You need to hear it too. And plus, she might feel a bit better if she can see the babies.”

“What do you mean by us needing to hear it too?” Finnick asks.

Vivi hesitates. “It has something to do with Misha. I think it’s best we discuss it with Katniss.”

I don’t argue with her.

As we enter Katniss’s room, I feel overwhelmed with sadness. She’s in a collar, laying on the bed, and her sister Prim is massaging one of her hands, while the other is clenched in a fist.

We are about to move forward when another set of doctors brush past us. They remove her collar and give her a shot, instructing her to stay still. 

Again, we are about to greet her when Plutarch, Haymitch, and Beetee enter the room. Plutarch initially announces that Prim should go, but she refuses.

“If you force me to leave,” she says sternly, “I'll go directly to surgery and tell my mother everything that's happened. And I warn you, she doesn't think much of a Gamemaker calling the shots on Katniss's life. Especially when you've taken such poor care of her." 

Plutarch looks offended, but Haymitch chuckles. "I'd let it go, Plutarch," he says. Prim stays. 

Vivi then wheels me forward, and Katniss’s eyes widen. “You had them,” Prim speaks for her, looking giddy as she stares at the two little ones, who are being surprisingly quiet.

“Yep, they’re here to say hello,” Finnick announces. He takes Mags from me and holds both near Katniss and Prim, so they can see them. It makes Katniss smile, and I find I’m glad it might have lifted her spirits about.

“Now to the serious business,” Plutarch says once we are settled for a talk. “Katniss, Peeta’s condition has come as a shock to all of us. We couldn't help but notice his deterioration in the last two interviews. Obviously, he'd been abused, and we put his psychological state down to that. Now we believe something more was going on. That the Capitol has been subjecting him to a rather uncommon technique known as hijacking. Beetee?"

"I'm sorry," Beetee says, "but I can't tell you all the specifics of it, Katniss. The Capitol's very secretive about this form of torture, and I believe the results are inconsistent. This we do know. It's a type of fear conditioning. The term hijack comes from an old English word that means 'to capture,' or even better, 'seize.' We believe it was chosen because the technique involves the use of tracker jacker venom, and the jack suggested hijack. You were stung in your first Hunger Games, so unlike most of us, you have firsthand knowledge of the effects of the venom." 

Katniss tenses at this, probably remembering what she felt when she was stung.

“We have never seen anything like it,” Vivi says as she moves closer to Katniss. “Or at least, we didn’t think so. I’m going ask Morgan now… what exactly did Misha tell you about what happened to him?”

I furrow my eyebrows to try and remember the details, feeling a little put on the spot. 

_“How did you survive?” I asked Misha when we were in the hovercraft heading to Thirteen. I had noticed Misha didn’t seem very keen on talking with Finnick there._

_“They put me in a separate chamber for torture. They said they were taking me to District Thirteen’s site to be executed, so it could be broadcasted. Our plane crashed for some unspecified reason. I was rescued, and Thirteen took me in. Showed me your interviews and Games when I asked. I watched you kill all those people and pretend to be in love with that kid. Then I stopped hearing about you awhile, until this year.”_

_“What have you even been doing in Thirteen?” I asked._

_“I took up helping them engineer some things. It was the price to pay for their hospitality and treatment until I recovered. Didn’t escape that plane unscathed. I was burned all over my legs. Not very appealing anymore.” He leaned forward. “What about you, princess? How’d you go from a scrawny, adorable thing to a hot piece of ass?”_

“He… he said something about torture and that they were taking him to be executed live on Thirteen’s site,” I recall. “The plane crashed and Thirteen took him in… he had said that he lost the ability to walk for a while and had lots of burns. Helped as an engineer to pay them back and learned about what I was doing in the meantime— watched my Games and all that.”

“I’m going to cut in here,” Beetee says. “Katniss, do you remember feeling any mental confusion in the aftermath? A sense of being unable to judge what was true and what was false? Most people who have been stung and lived to tell about it report something of the kind.”

She nods ever so slightly, and Beetee turns to me. “Morgan, how did Misha start acting when he saw you again?”

“He was rude. Spineless, almost. He was saying dirty things and making threats and being just purely erratic. Like the mere thought of me induced both desire and hatred in his mind.”

“Exactly,” Beetee says. “With hijacking, recall is made more difficult because memories can be changed." He taps his forehead. "Brought to the forefront of your mind, altered, and saved again in the revised form. Now imagine that I ask you to remember something. Either with a verbal suggestion or by making you watch a tape of the event. While that experience is refreshed, I give you a dose of tracker jacker venom. Not enough to induce a three-day blackout. Just enough to infuse the memory with fear and doubt. And that's what your brain puts in long-term storage.”

"Is that what they've done to Peeta? Taken his memories of Katniss and distorted them so they're scary?" Prim asks.

Beetee nods. "So scary that he'd see her as life-threatening. That he might try to kill her. Yes, that's our current theory." 

“We have reason to believe that the brief torture Misha was put through before what would have been his execution was with intention to hijack him,” Vivi says. “To make him fear you, Morgan, because they saw him act out after you were reaped. But it was something our doctors couldn’t pinpoint at the time. We didn’t know of it. But when Beetee suggested it earlier, I realized what we had missed with Misha.”

She stops, and her nostrils flare. “Misha was a failed hijacking. What they did to him was a small extent of what Peeta was put through. Peeta attacked Katniss violently because they got to him fully, managed to distort every last memory of her. With Misha, the little they gave him combined with what he saw about Morgan once he arrived here was enough to make him have violent urges, but not violent enough. It’s what makes him shift between these elated and erratic moods.”

“Can you reverse it?” Prim asks as soon as Vivi finishes.

"Um...very little data on that," Plutarch answers for Vivi. "None, really. If hijacking rehabilitation has been attempted before, we have no access to those records. And if Misha here is our only reference besides Peeta… it’s all limited.” 

"Well, you're going to try, aren't you?" Prim persists. "You're not just going to lock him up in some padded room and leave him to suffer?" 

"Of course, we'll try, Prim," Beetee promises. "It's just, we don't know to what degree we'll succeed. If any. My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They're the ones we naturally remember the best, after all." 

"And apart from his memories of Katniss, we don't yet know what else has been tampered with," Plutarch notes. "We're putting together a team of mental health and military professionals to come up with a counterattack. I, personally, feel optimistic that he'll make a full recovery." 

"Do you?" Prim asks caustically. "And what do you think, Haymitch?"

"I think Peeta might get somewhat better,” Haymitch muses, looking exhausted. “But...I don't think he'll ever be the same. Look at Misha. It’s been awhile, and he had this high tech level of treatment, but with the lack of any knowledge that Vivi says they have on it… they did the best they could and he still isn’t back to normal. That’s considering she’s saying he only got a small bit of what happened to Peeta.”

“Well at least he's alive," Plutarch murmurs, sounding impatient. "Snow executed Peeta's stylist and his prep team on live television tonight. We've no idea what happened to Effie Trinket. Peeta's damaged, but he's here. With us. And that's a definite improvement over his situation twelve hours ago. Let's keep that in mind, all right?" 

This makes Katniss start to gasp as she chokes back tears. Devan and Mags start to cry the instant that the doctors swarm forward to sedate her.


	40. Chapter 40

After what happened with Katniss, Vivi thinks it best for me to just focus on my twins for now, especially since I’m currently worried out of my mind.

“What the hell do you mean they sent Katniss to District Two? Why am I barely finding out about this?” I inquire. I’m just being informed that as soon as Katniss was healed, she was sent to District Two. What next, Misha and Peeta are best friends now?

“Plutarch didn’t think we should tell you. After they pieced things together about Misha and Peeta, they decided to not update either you or Katniss that often. She chose to go to Two with some of them. We’re working as hard as we can to help Peeta and Misha. Misha is doing a bit better now that we started a specific treatment. I know we’ve kept you in the dark about everything for the past few days, but you have your babies to think about.”

And that’s basically all it is for the next few weeks. Finnick is excused from his training as we get settled in our new compartment, complete with comfy beds for the babies. We spend those weeks learning to be good parents.

We talk to them as much as we can, and even include them in conversations when they make the slightest noise. They are two bundles of joy, and they giggle almost every time they see Finnick look at them. They are cuddly, and they love to be held, though Devan is definitely more into it than Mags.

During their bathtime adventures, Finnick and I narrate stories for them to start learning about the world. Finnick tells them how this bath water is different from how he grew up, but all the same I think it’s safe to say they will grow to be as good of swimmers as he is. 

When it is their suppertime, they love for me to sing to them. I have to feed them one at a time, because otherwise they will just be interacting instead of taking their milk. I do my best to sing a different song for them every time, but truth be told I don’t know that many songs, so they just repeat now.

I worry every day about Johanna, Katniss, Peeta, and Misha. Johanna isn’t up for visitors yet, though she does tell the doctors to let me know she is excited to eventually meet the babies. Vivi isn’t allowed to update me on Peeta or Misha, but she subtly lets me know they’re okay. As for Katniss, she’s still somewhere out there in District Two. Finnick reckons they’ll bring them back soon, but we’re not sure. 

Annie is doing incredible. She recovered quickly, and was interested in an offer Vivi made her to help with Peeta and Misha. Finnick initially didn’t think it was a good idea, because Annie can still get overwhelmed easily, but she’s really enjoying it. Annie is the one who lets us know that everyone is having a good time. Thanks to her, I am reassured that Peeta and Misha are okay, because she tells us about their bonding time. It seems Peeta and Misha are becoming friends, and Annie is doing a good job of talking to them about what it’s like to feel like your mind is betraying you. I think having Annie to talk to will help both of them greatly.

Annie is also a wonderful godmother to the babies. She absolutely adores them, and they wiggle like worms every time they get to see her. She’s gentle with them, and talks to them so soothingly that she almost always manages to put them to sleep right away. Finnick is of course overjoyed to have his best friend back, and I think it helped ease him into fatherhood knowing he has Annie to fall back on.

But then one day everything changed. We had been sitting down for dinner when we found out that Katniss had been rushed back after being shot in District Two. They wouldn’t let anyone see her, so we were stuck with only vague knowledge of what had happened.

Today, however, I have been allowed to go and see her, as well as Johanna. Finnick has been ordered to go to training with Gale and some others, as if he is already expected to become a soldier. I was under the impression I would have to start soon too, but when I asked for clarification, I was told that that wouldn’t be necessary, so now I’m free to pay Johanna and Katniss a visit.

I step in, babies in my arms, and see that Johanna and Katniss seem to have already shared a heated conversation, judging by how they glare at each other. I see that the morphling supply that’s on Katniss’s end is hooked up to Johanna.

Johanna seems to know that her being hooked to another morphling drip is the first thing I notice. “I’m about to turn into those freaks from Six,” she says with a devilish smirk. “Remember how the male morphling was one of your dating options? Fucking hilarious.”

“How are you feeling?” I ask them both as I move to sit on the chair in between.

Neither of them seems keen on answering. “Can I hold them?” Johanna asks immediately.

“Yes.” Johanna swoops in immediately and takes Devan, her eyes widening significantly. “See, I was betting on you and Finnick hooking up from the start, but I never thought you would fall in love and make such cute babies. What’s his name?”

“Devan Blight,” I say, which makes Johanna’s lip twitch. “This one is Margaret Gretchen, but we call her Mags.”

“Blight,” she says quietly. “Yeah…”

I’ve never seen her be so… emotional. It looks like the mention of Blight thoroughly hurts her feelings. I didn’t think they were ever that close. He was like a father to me, but I never thought Johanna felt the same.

“I miss him too,” I tell her. This makes her bite her lip. 

“We knew one of us might die. But I expected it would be me, not him. I thought he’d survive the arena and I’d take the fire when I went down to cut the tracker. But then he died and just… the plan was barely underway. I watched his death on screen. He was with Nuts and Bolts from Three. It was terrible….”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean for us to get separated.”

“It’s not your fault. You had to stick to the plan. Being with Finnick was your priority, especially after you found out you got knocked up. Can I hold the other one now?”

I hand Mags to her as I take Devan back. Katniss shakes her head when I offer him to her, motioning to her bandages. “Lost my spleen, according to Johanna,” she says. “But apparently I didn’t actually get shot, so I’m fine.”

I take the time to observe both of them thoroughly. Johanna looks stronger, as she’s gained a good amount of weight. Her hair is growing a bit to cover the scars she has, but her eyes still have dark circles around them and she looks like she’s holding back a lot of pent up emotions. As for Katniss, she looks weak, and in a lot of pain. She has bandages all over her and she looks stiff. It pains me to see them like that.

There is a knock on the doorway, and Gale comes in. Johanna neatly unhooks herself from the morphling drip and reattaches it to Katniss before handing Mags to me. “Morgan and I are going to walk around and talk,” she announces. “That way Katniss doesn’t have to be scared of me.” It makes me think they were really being rude to each other before I arrived.

“Your cousin’s not afraid of me,” Johanna says as she gets up and nudges Gale’s leg with her hip as she passes him. “Are you, gorgeous?”

She laughs, and I awkwardly wave at Gale before following her, both babies in my arms.

When I catch up to Johanna, she looks quite amused. “That Gale boy is cute,” she thinks aloud. “Shame he’s still hung up on her. That’s all I hear around here. Love triangle.”

“You could still go for him,” I suggest. “He likes tough girls.”

“Mmm… I don’t know. I mean sure, if Katniss doesn’t want him, I’ll take him. But hey, I’ve never done any of that before the way you have. I wouldn’t know.”

“You really never had a boyfriend?”

She hesitates, and looks down. “I mean… Blight and I had a thing… but that was brief.”

Okay, that comes like a slap in the face. The twins make a small noise almost like they understood what she implied, but of course that’s just coincidental.

“You… and Blight? What? When? I thought… well I saw him like a father…”

“It was brief, like I said.” She sounds sad as she tells me. “It was right after I won. He and I were becoming friends and I just… I started to like him as more than that. My family had just been killed because I refused to become a prostitute for Snow, and he was there to comfort me. When he had won all those years ago, he was really young but he got asked too. He never told you because he felt bad… his family had already died so Snow had no leverage and he had to just accept his wish… I guess Blight thought it would hurt you to know he got off so easily. Anyway… well I liked him, and he liked me, and there was awhile we flirted a lot… until we compromised to put an end to it. He said it was wrong of him, because he was older than me, and well… I didn’t want to get attached because it just meant I had someone Snow could use against me. We settled on just being friends… which wasn’t much better, since we were still each other’s vulnerable point. But we got close. When you and Griffin came along, it really brought us together and I guess we both felt we made a mistake drawing away from each other. But it was too late, and we never talked about it again.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, seeing that her talking has lulled Mags and Devan to sleep. 

“It’s okay. It’s in the past. I just… I’ve never had what you and Finnick had, not really. I guess… it scares me.”

“Johanna, you’re safe now,” I tell her. “You have the freedom to be with whoever you want and no one can stop you.”

She laughs dryly. “Sometimes I wish I could have been the Mockingjay, or the alternate. You and Katniss both basically got someone guaranteed. Of course, that’s in the drain now. But it’s fine.”

We take the rest of our walk in silence.

_________

There is talk about the soldiers going into the Capitol after what happened in Two, and it is starting to scare me.

“Well what exactly does it mean for you?” I ask nervously as Finnick begins to suit himself up for a mandatory few hours of training.

“I don’t know exactly, but they’re making all of us able bodied people train,” he says. “Nothing to worry about, darling, I’m not going to be sent to the Capitol.”

“How do you know that?”

“They don’t seem to be implying it. What with them saying they don’t need you anymore… what would they need me for? They have soldiers to go.”

“So have I practically been demoted as a soldier?”

“Boggs seems to think so, and Haymitch agrees. It hasn’t been confirmed, but Coin is giving signs of not needing the Mockingjay anymore. Since you’re the alternate… she is just letting you have your time to get into motherhood.”

“Well if that’s the case, don’t you get to enjoy fatherhood?”

“Yes, but I didn’t spend a week and a half hooked up to machines and experiencing pain from high levels of medication, and I also didn’t push out two kids in one. Haymitch thinks that Coin reckons you’ve been through enough, and you’re not going to be recovering enough to fight. I bet she thinks you’re out of shape.”

“I’m not, though. I can still throw knives better than all of those soldiers. Finnick, if they do start implying you have to go… I want to go with you.”

“Morgan.” He comes closer and sits beside me. This is one of the few times I don’t have the twins in my arms, as they’re napping. He cups my face and leans in to press his forehead against mine. “We have to leave our kids with at least one parent. You know that. I know you are strong. I know you’re likely a better fighter than me. But if I had to choose between having had just one parent my whole life, I’d choose my mother. For one, you can breastfeed them. Two, you carried them, and there will be so much more for you to understand. I’ve seen you with them. Maybe they stop crying right as they get placed in my arms, but they cuddle closer to you, they listen when you sing to them and they’re enraptured by how you talk to them. You are a hell of a fighter but I want our kids to have at least one parent. Plus the mission is coming up fast… Coin might not approve you into training in time, and you know how strict she is about meeting protocol.”

What Finnick says makes complete sense, but it terrifies me all the same. “What if I lose you?” I whisper. “What if by chance you go and don’t come back? Maybe I can learn to live without you, but I don’t want to. I want our babies to have their father. There will be lessons that they can only truly learn from their dad. I know that was the case for me.” 

“We’ll worry about it as it comes up. I doubt they’ll send me. I’m good, but they know I’m also really stubborn.”

“Yeah, our babies will inherit stubbornness from both of us,” I say with a light laugh. Finnick dips down to kiss me on the lips before kissing my forehead.

Once he leaves for training, I only get to rest for a little while before the twins are needing a feeding and a diaper change. I decide after both to go for a walk with them in their new little carriage, so my arms don’t get so tired.

It has only been a short while since Katniss was released from the hospital, but already they’re making her work out quite a bit. It probably would have been the same for me if I didn’t have babies to take care of. 

“How are you feeling today?” I ask her as I situate the babies and myself on chairs off to the side to watch her lift some ropes as part of her physical therapy.

“Better. How are the little ones?” she asks. I find Katniss is more fascinated with the babies than anyone. Johanna has already gotten used to being their ‘cool’ aunt, but Katniss can’t wrap her head around why they like her so much. It’s adorable to see her bonding with them.

“They’re good. Nice and clean, and not sleepy at all.”

For the effect, I lift the cover of the carrier they are in, and Devan squeals while Mags squirms to try and catch a glimpse of Katniss, since she hears her voice.

“Awesome. I’m assuming you’ve heard about them wanting to send us to the Capitol?”

“Yeah. I’m concerned about Finnick.”

“They don’t seem to be wanting to send him, so I wouldn’t worry too much. There is talk of sending Peeta and Misha, though, according to Plutarch.”

My jaw practically hits the floor. “Excuse me?”

“That’s what I said,” she huffs as she lifts her rope again, stretching the muscles in her arm. “It’s like they’re disposing of them, in my opinion. But Haymitch says Peeta wants to go. Nothing on Misha, though.”

“That’s… also really concerning. Sending them. How would they even make sure they’re okay enough for that?”

“I have no idea. I don’t want Peeta to go, but…” she gets a faraway look in her eyes. “I want to go.”

“And you also want to spend time with Peeta.”

She winces. “It’s complicated.”

She says nothing more on the subject.

I decide to make another stop before heading back to our compartment to wait for Finnick. I find that Plutarch and Haymitch are scheming (or being friendly?) near Command.

“Hey,” I say as I wheel the twins’ carriage up. “I have a few questions.”

This makes them share a look.

“What was that for?” I ask immediately. “Is there something I’m not being told?”

“No,” Haymitch answers. He comes over and leans down to peek at the babies, who welcome him with their regular series of coos and random squeals. “Just… we were talking about you.”

“Oh? All good things, I hope.”

“For one, we’re a bit puzzled,” Plutarch cuts in. “Finnick was mentioning that you both are a bit… confused, I’d say, about why you’re not being trained. We are too. You’re a better fighter than Katniss because you’ve trained more physically than she has, and you can use axes and knives in a way no one comes close to except for Johanna, who is out of the question. He told us about how he wants his kids to have at least one parent… which is understandable… but frankly still weird. We’re going to talk to Coin about that plan soon. Now, don’t go thinking we’re making Finnick go, but it’s a possibility. We just need to find out if there’s a specific reason certain people are being pushed into the lineup and others aren’t.”

I let out a shaky sigh. “Okay. What’s the second thing?”

“Propos,” Plutarch continues. “We have been wanting to air one to show that Katniss is alive and well, but we haven’t had a chance to really film anything yet. But we also want to show that this district is alive and well, and people are thriving. So, we were wondering… this might be a personal question but have you and Finnick proposed to each other, or anything? Or discussed marriage?”

The question takes me aback. Not really. We’ve hinted at it, maybe more indirectly than it would be nice to, and we do definitely think we want to, but it hasn’t been necessarily confirmed.

“Well… we’d definitely marry each other if we could, I think. But no proposals yet.”

“Here’s the idea,” Plutarch begins. “You, and Finnick, a beautiful wedding in the fashion of your choice. Show the happiness. Show Katniss celebrating.”

“Which, let me add,” Haymitch notes, “is all genuine. I know Katniss is going to be real happy for you two if you get married, so it’s all real happiness. Just also enough to show Snow that she’s not dead, and she’s actually rejoicing and all that.”

“So what do you say?” Plutarch prompts. “Up to get married within the next couple of days?”

“The next couple of days?” I say slowly. “Why the rush, exactly?”

“The Capitol mission. Katniss will be going, so we need her healthy appearance out there before that.”

But I know there’s an underlying reason. 

“Finnick is being recommended for the main lineup, or whatever, isn’t he?” I ask softly. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Plutarch hesitates, and Haymitch jumps in. “Yes. But he doesn’t know that. No one knew exactly. They’re telling them today at training, which is why it was mandatory.”

I sigh softly and reach my hands up to rub my temples.

“I will talk to Finnick about it,” I say at last. “Tonight.”

When night does come, I find Finnick is unnaturally silent as he walks through the door.

“Hey,” I say softly, coming in to kiss his lips as I help him begin to remove his gear. “How are you? Devan and Mags seemed to be asking for you, they kept looking around as if they wanted to find you.”

“Fine, and that’s cute,” he says with a slight chuckle. He doesn’t seem very happy about it.

“Finnick, you’re not fine.” I follow him into the bathroom, and rub his back as he dips down to wash his hands and face. “You can talk to me.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, instead making a motion that he’ll tell me later.

I sigh and start massaging his back properly. “I saw Plutarch and Haymitch today. They seem to like the idea of us getting married for a propo.”

“Married for a propo?” He tenses a bit and I think he’s about to be angry, until I see a wide grin on his face. “Well, why didn’t they say earlier we could get married right away?”

In an instant, he’s gotten onto one knee. I wasn’t expecting that, as I was actually thinking I would be the one to ask him to marry me. 

“Morgan Reeves,” he says, taking my hands. I find I’m already tearing up. “I love you. I have loved you for so long it’s practically a part of me. And before you get into technicalities about how it really hasn’t been that long… that’s all the time I need to know that you’re the one I want by my side for the rest of my life. You are resilient, and you became the friend I needed when we were forced into that job. I will never forgive myself for hurting you the way I did and saying cruel things and not stopping that man from hurting you the day he did, but I am thankful that you saw it in yourself to forgive me, and have given me a chance to raise my children with you. You gave me the greatest gift I could have asked for, and I want to spend the rest of my life knowing that you and I are one. I never needed it to be official, but if it can happen, I want it to, because I want to be able to say I am married to the badass Morgan Reeves. I want you to be my wife. Will you make me the happiest man and become my wife?”

I nod almost immediately, and shriek as Finnick tackles me in a hug and spins me around. I squeal and wrap my arms tightly around him, burying my face in his chest. “Yes, Finnick, I love you. I’d love to be your wife.” I run my hands through his hair as I pull away ever so slightly, and dry my eyes on my sleeve. “Is that what you were so nervous about when coming in?” I laugh lightly.

Finnick tenses, and his eyes grow sad, and immediately I know something is wrong.

“What it is?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

Finnick sounds a million miles away when he speaks. “Morgan, they’re sending me to the Capitol.”


	41. Chapter 41

Almost as soon as the words escape Finnick’s lips, I run to where the twins have already fallen asleep.

“Morgan, baby stop, come on—“

“I’m going to talk to Coin. You can come or you can stay with them, so I don’t have to wake them.”

“She’s not going to change her mind, Morgan, she’s going to insist that I have to go—“

“The very least I can do is try!” I say, looking sadly at him as I tie my hair up. “I can advocate, I can—“

He seizes me by the shoulders probably as gently as he can muster, and looks down at me. “Morgan, you’re not going to be able to change her mind.”

“Finnick, it’s not fair! They expect us to share our special day with all of Panem in a propo, the least they can do is let you stay? What harm will it do if you stay behind?”

He tilts my chin upward. “What if me staying behind tips the scales in Snow’s favor? I had my examination with some of the others who are already confirmed to go. I passed with flying colors. They need me because my body is ready, and my mind is too. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I want my children to know that their father went and fought for something he believed in. And if I die—“

“If you die, they will only know you from stories! Stories that their heartbroken mother will tell! I’m not going to be a good mother if I have to constantly remember that I’m in it alone because I lost you to the orders of some woman who forced us to do the procedure so I could fight, and is now wanting me to stay home! Finnick, please, I am going to talk to her and at the very least get my point across. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Morgan, you’re not going to lose me,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheeks. His hands are warm, and they’re big enough to almost cover my cheeks entirely. “I will come back to you. To all of you. I’m going to be here.”

I let out a shaky breath and look away. “Still. If I can convince her to let you stay… it will make me feel better. Or at the very least get justification for why I can’t go.”

Finnick seems reluctant to let me go, but he gives up. “I’ll stay with the kids. Please, just… don’t tell her anything you will regret, even if you’re angry. She could throw you in too. And that’s when it becomes riskier.”

I nod and kiss his lips firmly before dashing out the door.

It’s the first time that I can move around the district without my twins either in their carriage or in my arms. My feet take off, and I am reminded of the fact I am definitely still very well equipped to be a soldier. I remember what it is like to run without boundaries, but the lingering thought in the back of my mind is that I can also recall what it was like to run for my life, to be desperately moving through a terrain to be saved from enemies that are threatening to rip you to shreds.

But I don’t let the thought linger. As I arrive to Command, I find a nightly meeting has just been dismissed, and the president herself is leaving.

“President Coin!” I don’t bother to mask the obvious agitation in my tone and the clear annoyance I feel at needing to be here to have this conversation. She turns to me and surprisingly, doesn’t seem prepared to cast me away.

“Soldier Reeves,” she says calmly. “I had been meaning to talk to you. Walk with me.” 

I slow my run down to a walk, and move down the corridor alongside her. “President Coin, if I may, I want to express my concerns about Finnick having to—“

“I am well aware of your concerns. But Soldier Odair has a duty, as do the rest of my soldiers going to the Capitol. That mission should not be your concern, nor Soldier Everdeen’s any longer.”

“Why not?” I didn’t know she had changed her mind about Katniss going. Maybe she had just decided it. “We are your Mockingjays. Well, more her, but I am your alternate.”

“Something that Soldier Everdeen has failed to understand is that her duties as the Mockingjay must be more controlled. I cannot trust her. I have yet to tell it to her, but she must understand that her purpose lies elsewhere. As for you, and alternate isn’t necessarily needed anymore. Peeta Mellark is here, and his presence is enough to influence Katniss to be the Mockingjay we need her to be. You are free to be a mother now. Pity you weren’t the first choice, we’d be further along with you.”

Her words send chills down my spine and resurface memories I had tried to bury.

_“You’re just as fiery as her,” Coin mused as we began to walk following one of the first Command meetings as a team. “But you’re much more controlled. Less prone to unpredictability and outbursts.”_

_I remember feeling my skin crawl. She reminded me, and reminds me, far too much of Snow._

_“Thank you, ma’am,” I had said_

_“I’m glad you see that as a compliment. As I’m sure you’ve been told, you are quite eligible for a procedure. It’s almost a necessity that you get this done, as you are our backup Mockingjay.”_

_“So I have heard,” I replied. “Is there no other way?”_

_“I’m afraid not. Even if you are not the main Mockingjay, you are still a symbol, and we still require you to fight. You are much more appealing as a fighter to me than Soldier Everdeen. I have seen you train. You and Soldier Odair have an unmatched precision and talent especially working together. Having you both on the field will be nice, and being held back by a child is not desirable. Sacrifices, as you have come to understand, need to be made. It is unfortunate you find yourself in this situation, but I can’t pretend to sympathize. That girl is unpredictable. And you are one of those who help keep her in check. I am not saying you need the procedure done this very moment, but keep it in mind. Soon, Soldier. Soon. I’d go get the check today, to make sure it is even worth it.”_

_“Excuse me?” I said, blinking._

_“You will want to check that your child isn’t damaged. If it is, your best option would be to terminate. Go and do that now.”_

I could recall how initially, I didn’t want to fight. Even though at the time I thought I was only expecting one baby, I wanted a normal pregnancy now that we were out of the arena. But it was Coin who insisted they needed me to fight, Coin who urged me into a procedure that in another reality could have made me lose my child. She had suggested I terminate so I could be of use to her, and thus I went through with the procedure. Had it all been for nothing?

_The door opened just seconds after Finnick and I found out we were expecting twins, and I flinched, seeing President Coin entering the room. Her eyes were emotionless, but I could see from how her forehead creased that she is well aware of what my situation had become._

_“Vivi,” she said, crossing her arms. “How long?”_

_“How long until what?” Finnick and I ask in unison._

_Vivi answered her directly. “A few days, Madam President. We need to start this soon before the twins start to develop too much and it becomes more dangerous. We could accidentally cut off an important fetal development and leave them permanent damage. Ideally, I would like to start the day after tomorrow.”_

_Coin was about to answer, but I cut her off. “Excuse me? You’re not even going to test this on someone else? I’m expected to be your guinea pig right away?”_

_“You know as well as I do that we’d hardly have time to spare even if you were having a singular baby, Soldier Reeves,” Coin had said firmly. “This procedure needs to be started immediately.” She turned to Vivi. “Begin her on the round of prenatal vitamins to prepare her body to comply with our techniques. For now, bed rest and light food, to test for reactions to medication and determine the proper speed. I expect calculations for her process to be done swiftly. If possible, I would like to speed it up even a tad more. This procedure must be completed by mid next week, the latest. If it is not, Soldiers Reeves and Odair will have to say goodbye to their children.”_

_My mouth had dropped open in fury, and shock, but by the time I wanted to retort, the President had gone, and Vivi injected a serum into me without so much as a warning._

Coin had practically thrown us headfirst into the procedure even after we were uncertain because of the twins, and the fact it had not been done before. Out of us following her orders so we could be good soldiers, we had complied.

I remembered that the night before the procedure, it seemed Coin had come to see me after Katniss’s first time with the cameras in her face.

_“It was a failure, I hear,” she had said without hesitation, looking intently at me. “It will take a lot of convincing for me to put any faith in that girl.”_

_“She’s overwhelmed. I would have been too,” I muttered. Finnick draped his arm protectively around my shoulder._

_Her eyes followed the progression of his arm, as if his sudden move towards intimacy was unwelcome, especially in her presence. “You are both prepared for tomorrow, yes?”_

_“The best we can be,” Finnick offered._

_“That’s enough,” Coin said, as if she expected more preparation on our part, but wasn’t going to chastise us for it. “Reminder, Morgan, a light meal. Be at the hospital by 4:45 exactly. Vivi will begin the process. The other doctors will be there to monitor as well. I’ve also taken the liberty of assigning a special mathematician to the case in order to double check dosage amounts for the hormones and other medication.”_

_Her extra measures had caught me by surprise. “Oh. Thank you.”_

_She didn’t say anything else. She simply nodded, and walked away without another word._

_“Well, shit,” Finnick huffed. “That’s like guilting us into this. She’s making it seem like she really cares so we can under no circumstance back out.”_

_“We wouldn’t be able to anyway,” I muttered. “She’d have the twins terminated if I refused.”_

The realization begins to dawn on me. Alma Coin has never cared about having me as a soldier. She made it seem like she did, but instead she gradually made it seem she was concerned with us having our twins to be able to manipulate us in any way she needed to. It gave her a chance to isolate Katniss, because despite meetings being in our hospital room those few days, Katniss and I would have been separated often enough for Coin to evaluate who she wanted as the Mockingjay. 

Coin had never cared. No, she made choice after choice depending on what suited her needs, even if it inconvenienced us. Why else wouldn’t she make me a soldier now that the procedure was complete? 

It was the sole fact that putting me into a procedure left me ready, yes, but also let her observe Katniss’s true self, to evaluate the situation and shift it to suit her needs. She never needed an alternate Mockingjay, it was just a play to make Finnick and I feel we were more part of it, so we could be forced into a hospital room to bring children into the world while she observed the main Mockingjay and watched her be her true, stubborn self. 

I had a chilling feeling that Coin was hinting at something else. If she didn’t need me, but wasn’t sending Katniss into the Capitol anymore…

She was getting ready to manipulate Katniss one last time before this was over for good.

_“Pity you weren’t the first choice, we’d be further along with you.”_

I needed to figure out what it was for.

“Soldier Reeves!”

I flinch as I’m snapped to the reality that Coin has been awaiting a response to her statement this entire time. “See, you are unfocused, lacking sleep,” she says as if she knows exactly how I feel. As if she can internalize every bit of worry and confusion coursing through my body. “Go be a mother. Your children need you. Soldier Odair is an asset that we need.”

“I want to go as well,” I tell her. “I can fight, I can. That was what the whole procedure was for!”

“The procedure was perhaps intended for you to be prepared to fight, but I anticipated that Soldier Everdeen would fall off the wagon much sooner. I did not expect she would last as long as she did, with her behavior being out of line and her being reluctant to comply with anything. Now we have the problem that she was shot. I had not even wanted to send her to Two to begin with, and they convinced me. But she has proven to be more useful now, the only problem being that she has to act in a very specific manner as the Mockingjay.”

“I can still fight!” I hiss. “Send me, not Finnick. I’d rather be the one that dies.”

“Sacrifices need to be made, and unfortunately for you, he has been chosen. You have not been. None of my female soldiers are mothers, and that has worked well so far because they do not have their maternal instincts and hormones clouding their judgement. With fathers it is very different, but mothers it is a risk we cannot take. We have no evidence to suggest it is a good idea.”

“You have technology and medication, I can use something to tune out my feelings as long as it takes to be a good soldier!”

“And you would be leaving your children orphans if you and Soldier Odair both die,” she says scathingly, as if her words are chosen precisely to hit a nerve in me. “You tell me, Soldier Reeves, how would that be better for them? You might as well have terminated them the times that I suggested it, instead of you coming here to argue. You knew sacrifices needed to be made. Be grateful I’m letting you stay rather than forcing you to abandon your children. We may be in need of a good militia, but it is not a sufficient need to send you. We are not sure you will be ready in time for the mission, and we doubt you can focus enough to do us a service. Soldier Odair has been training for awhile now, and he passed his examination, with a full recommendation. If I find you coming to complain to me again about this, I will make it my personal business to find another pair of caretakers for your twins, and you will lose privileges to see them.”

She stops in her tracks and glares at me. “I thought you were the controlled one of the two Mockingjays. I suppose I was wrong. Had I known you would be more of a handful than Soldier Everdeen, I would have sent you in first so that you could be rid of as a burden.”

She stalks away, and I find I am furious. So that I could be rid of as a burden? Is she implying she wouldn’t have minded me dying?

I start to sense that that was her original plan. To send Katniss out, and for Katniss to die so she wouldn’t be a pain in Coin’s neck. I would take over and she would have by then manipulated me after ‘caring’ about my twins, and I wouldn’t have hesitated to do her bidding.

Coin is definitely just as bad as Snow, if not worse.

____________

Initially, I think the angriest I can be at Coin is when she tells me to keep our conversation private ‘or else.’

But then I find out that she doesn’t want us to throw a big party as our wedding.

It takes Plutarch a whole day of bargaining to convince her that a ‘wedding’ for us isn’t just signing a piece of paper. In District Thirteen, that’s all it is aside from being assigned a new compartment, though Finnick and I have been in the same compartment since we arrived. Plutarch manages to convince her to go with his definition, which is hundreds of people dressed in finery, celebrating for three whole days (though Finnick and I kindly tell him not to stress about making it three days, since trying to celebrate that long with twins in tow won’t be doing the little ones justice). 

While I have never hated Coin more than I do now, I have also never appreciated Plutarch more. She vetoes dinner, entertainment, alcohol, and cake, but he fights for all of those and for every last guest and musical note that will linger in the midst of our happiness. 

"What's the point of the propo if no one's having any fun!" he tells her, which I can see makes her rub her temples in pure annoyance.

Of course, poor Plutarch gets so excited that being put on a budget hurts him more than it does us, but he makes it happen the best way he can.

It helps that everyone is so kind and eager to pitch in. Those in Thirteen seem to have no holidays at all, so hearing about our ‘quiet’ celebration excites them. When Finnick absentmindedly pitches the idea out loud that he would really feel happy if children could sing the wedding song of District Four since District Seven doesn’t have one, every child shows up to learn it, and I find that I want to cry from how cute it is.

I love seeing how they care so much about our special day. There are numerous volunteers helping make decorations, and there are those constantly asking how else they can help. Annie mysteriously schemes up an idea in therapy (according to Haymitch) that leads to her and Katniss leaving on a hovercraft for awhile, only to return with three of the evening gowns that Cinna left for Katniss. I find that they brought the three most fitting ones for not only the wedding itself, but for me. They are not dresses that I would be uncomfortable in, rather those that would show off my improving post-partum body and make me feel as though I am in a wedding dress. 

The day of the wedding, I am dressed in a gorgeous dark green gown made of silk, and draping nicely over my belly to make me look more slim than I am. I am reminded of the many dresses Griz and Gliese made for me in that same color, and it saddens me to think they were unable to design something for me. It saddens me more not knowing if they are still alive, especially after Finnick and I talked about who Snow threatened to kill if we refused to be his prostitutes. 

Devan and Mags are given the most adorable outfits, a nice darker teal to show the union of the blue from District Four, and the green from District Seven. 

It is Haymitch, to my surprise, who walks me down the aisle as Dalton, one of the refugees from District Ten, stands near Finnick to initiate the ceremony.

“I was the main one that got you two together,” Haymitch tells me playfully in my ear as we go down the aisle. I can’t help but smile because he is right. While Plutarch did pitch in, it was Haymitch who fully suggested it. Plutarch is behind the scenes conducting the propo, and I wish I could have had him on the other side of me. 

An emptiness inside me reminds me that in another reality, either my father, my brother Devan, or even someone like Blight, Griffin, or Griz might have been the one to walk me down the aisle on this day. I fight back the urge to cry, however, because this reality is still one that does bring me joy. Haymitch has become someone I trust and admire, and I remember that when he first met me, he was kind and didn’t label me as a Murderess the way victors in other districts did.

I find myself at Finnick’s side, and smile as behind us, it is Johanna, still dressed in her regular clothes like everyone watching, brings up the carriage with our babies to drop off the wooden rings that Plutarch had made for us, because it was a tradition in Seven to exchange wooden rings at the ceremony before wearing them in a necklace for the rest of the time after that. 

I hardly can pay attention to what Dalton is saying, because the entire time I’m holding Finnick’s hands and squeezing them as I stare into the dazzling eyes that both our children inherited. We receive pine needles over our head, and touch our lips together with salt water just briefly before the children begin to sing the ancient District Four wedding song that likens marriage to a sea voyage. 

Once we are instructed to kiss, Finnick cups my face gently in his hands and pulls me in, kissing me so hard that it squeezes out some tears of happiness.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much, Morgan Reeves.”

“I love you even more than that,” I breathe back to him. “And by the way, it’s Morgan Odair now.”

He grins like a maniac before kissing me again.

The rest of the night is followed by pure bliss, bringing me almost as much joy as what I felt when the twins were born. The fiddler plays music from Twelve, but they all teach us their special dance, which isn’t as complicated as it seems from afar. Katniss dances with Prim, Greasy Sae and Gale take the attention for a bit, and surprisingly to me, I later catch a glimpse of Johanna quite clearly dancing with Gale, though they aren’t touching. Finnick and I have one individual slow dance, but we’re soon joined by Devan and Mags, who are surprisingly calm, and stay still enough for all four of us to move slowly to the soft music in the background. 

But the highlight of it all comes when the crowd parts, revealing an extra bit for the propo that Plutarch hadn’t told us about, of course because it is supposed to be a surprise. 

Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room, and I gasp as the guests back up to make way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers, with the shore revealing a vast forest that shows small birds and stacks of wood as well as an adorably comfortable looking cabin that has fake steam protruding from the chimney.

I have a feeling who made this cake, but it is not until Katniss casts me a look, her eyes shining, that I remember every detail of her bread story, and find I am crying at the thought that Peeta, who I last saw trying to kill her, has given Finnick and I this skilled, focused masterpiece of a cake. 

It is only then that I realize that the entire night, I didn’t realize that someone in the back has been watching us, and when I turn my head, I see Misha looking healthier than I have ever seen him before, admiring the scene that plays out, his arm around Annie Cresta.   
  


**A/N: Thoughts? Your comments make me so happy! :)**


	42. Chapter 42

I am sitting at dinner with Finnick, the twins, Gale, Katniss, Annie, Misha, and Johanna.

In the few days since the wedding, I have learned a lot, and I had a terrible feeling about the mission that was still weeks away.

For one, I had learned that after the wedding, Coin had allowed Katniss to go into training to participate in the attack on the Capitol. What’s more, she had also allowed Johanna in, and Johanna jumped at the first opportunity. She told me she was excited to be allowed to do something, but then subtly confided that she would enjoy seeing Gale more often. 

As if that wasn’t confusing enough, now Misha was being trained once more.

It had been enough of a shock to see Misha with his arm around Annie at the wedding. I had later learned that Annie, in helping with the treatment of Peeta and Misha, had developed a close friendship with both, but mostly Misha. I had been concerned before, knowing Misha could lose control when he got passionate about something, but in the past few days I have been observing him, I can see that maybe this is his true self, and the therapy has allowed him to be completely healthy again.

For one, he is kind. Misha had always been one to be nice to people, but he was selective about who received that positive aspect of himself. Now, he is kind to every person that comes his way. Gale’s little sister Posy drew him a flower, and despite the fact he’s never liked kids much, Misha went into a small praise session about how good of an artist Posy was.

He is also calm, calmer than I have ever seen him before. Especially with Annie. He reminds me of Finnick with how soothingly he speaks to her. Finnick seemed jealous when he first observed how easily Misha had it to calm Annie down when she got overwhelmed, but soon, he told me that he thinks that whatever they did for Misha was a miracle.

“She’s never trusted anyone that much,” Finnick mumbled the night of the wedding when we got to our compartment. “Other than me. Not even Mags. But she… she must have gotten to see him really vulnerable to trust him. She must have seen a side of him maybe you never even did.”

“I think so,” I had agreed. “Misha was nice but not that nice. He must have had to reminisce in a lot of pain that brought out a different nature. I asked around… they’re just friends, but who knows…”

Of course, as expected, Finnick and I left the babies overnight with an overjoyed Johanna so that he and I could finally really connect while sober and without the imminent threat of going into a deadly arena hanging over us.

But now that we sit here at dinner, I start to wonder if that may be the last time (and barely the second time, though first time if you don’t count what happened when we were drunk and I ended up pregnant) that he and I will get to be so intimate. 

It’s just so bizarre to me that Katniss, Johanna, and Misha are being trained. One, Johanna and Misha are recovering from a period of mental decline dealing with torture for her and a failed hijacking for him. Katniss hasn’t even fully recovered from being shot in Two, and Coin had told me she didn’t want her going to the Capitol, but now the tables have turned all over again. 

It terrifies me that Coin may be planning something. Perhaps she wants to get rid of Katniss now.

Tonight as we eat, everything makes me think too deep into it. Gale tells us that the stew we’re eating, containing beef, potatoes, turnips, and onions in a thick gravy, was provided mostly by a shipment we were able to receive from Ten. But I wonder, does that mean there is more freedom of communication now that can’t be interfered by the Capitol? Katniss is wolfing down her soup, which could be seen as both her being extremely hungry or not wanting to talk. Is there something Coin told her that she was sworn to secrecy with, similar to how Coin forbade me to tell Katniss or anyone that she wasn’t meant to go to the Capitol at all?

We are all listening as Finnick tells us a story about how once, a sea turtle ran away with his hat. To add to the comical effect and make our twins giggle, he alternates between them to pick them up and wave their arms as if they’re telling the story.

The fact we’re laughing makes a few heads turn in our direction, and it is right then that I see two large guards leading Peeta Mellark toward our table.

“Peeta,” I say, my voice trembling a bit. None of us (besides Annie and Misha) have seen him in a good while. “It’s… it’s nice to see you out and about.”

He half smiles, but it seems like a false gesture. He holds his tray quite awkwardly in his hands, balancing it on his fingertips since his wrists are shackled with a short chain between them.

"What's with the fancy bracelets?" asks Johanna as she looks up from her stew. 

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet," Peeta says flatly. "I can't even sit here without your permission." He indicates the guards with his head. 

"Sure he can sit here. We're old friends," says Johanna, patting the space beside her, which is only empty because I had previously put the babies’ carrier there.. The guards nod and Peeta takes a seat, right between Johanna and I. "Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol,” Johanna adds. “We're very familiar with each other's screams." 

Annie, who's on Johanna's other side, is clearly triggered by this, and begins to breathe heavily, covering her ears. Finnick sets the twins down as if he’s about to rush to Annie’s side, but by then, Misha has leaned in to whisper some things to her. His arms caress hers slowly, as if urging her to not block herself out. Maybe it was an exercise they did in therapy.

But as Annie is starting to calm down, Misha shoots Johanna an angry look, and I find that Misha is still the same he was before, but he has found the person that makes him better. 

"What? My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy," Johanna replies.

I try to change the subject. “Peeta, your work on our wedding cake was beautiful,” I tell him, smiling as I pull Mags into my arms, because Finnick has picked up Devan again. “We loved it. Thank you so much.”

I don’t expect Peeta to reply so calmly. “It was my pleasure, Morgan.” His voice is so gentle, that Mags gets curious enough to observe him, and she wiggles as she moves her head to stare at him. Peeta looks down at her, and I see his expression soften. His cheeks are tinted pink when she lets out a small coo. 

“She’s really cute,” Peeta notes. “What are their names, again?”

“This one is Mags, and Finnick is holding Devan.”

The mention of my daughter’s name seems to be a trigger for Peeta. “Mags,” he mumbles. “Of course you named her after her.”

“Yes, we did,” Finnick says a bit defensively. I’m starting to notice a certain tension between Peeta and Finnick, that at first doesn’t make sense. 

“You should have saved her, not me,” Peeta replies bitterly.

Finnick passes Devan to me so quickly that it startles me, and I see him balling his fists up under the table. “But I chose to save you, Peeta. Multiple times, if you remember.”

“Not because you cared,” Peeta says caustically. “Because of _her_.” He nods his head to me. “Because you were supporting the rebellion and you were sticking with a plan that would gain you the chance to get Morgan and your kids out. I owe you nothing.”

Before Finnick can snarl something that I’m sure would have made the babies cry, Katniss takes her chance. “He still saved you, and you’re here while Mags isn’t, so that should count for something. He and Morgan were just thanking you for their cake.”

The mention of the cake just makes Peeta tense. “Yeah, well a lot of things should count for something that don't seem to, Katniss. I've got some memories I can't make sense of, and I don't think the Capitol touched them. A lot of nights on the train, for instance.” 

This makes Katniss go silent. Peeta points at Katniss and Gale. "So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lover thing?" He asks scathingly. 

“Still dragging,” Johanna replies. Now even she looks annoyed with Peeta.

Spasms cause Peeta's hands to tighten into fists, then splay out in a bizarre fashion, as if he’s struggling to hold back a murderous force that would surely lead to him attacking Katniss. It is then that Annie whimpers, and Misha quickly leads her away. 

Gale decides to add to Johanna’s answer. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself." 

"What's that?" Peeta inquires a bit coldly. 

"You," Gale answers. 

"You'll have to be a little more specific," says Peeta. "What about me?" 

"That they've replaced you with the evil-mutt version of yourself," Johanna says, which I notice makes Gale’s lip twitch like he’s holding back a smile. Gale then leads Katniss away from the table.

Peeta scoffs and grits his teeth. “So who all are couples here now? Seems everyone has been busy.”

“No one besides Morgan and I are a couple,” Finnick says. I can tell he’s doing his best to stay calm. Devan and Mags are squirming in my arms, like even they can sense the tension around the table. I’m thankful they don’t start to cry. I fear that might trigger Peeta.

“Yeah right. The way she is with Gale and the way Misha moved onto Annie definitely isn’t a pairing,” he scoffs.

Johanna has had enough. “For your information, I’m the one trying to make a move on Gale.”

“And Annie and Misha are just friends,” I add quietly. I may not really believe it myself, but if Misha insists they are just friends, I will choose to believe him. By now he’s shown me he’s a better man.

Peeta grits his teeth, and gets up, leaving his unfinished tray of food on the table, before following the guards out.

That night, Annie and Misha sneak to Finnick and I’s compartment to visit the babies, since Annie has yet to fully calm down after what happened at dinner.

“That’s the first I had seen him act like that in awhile,” Misha admits as Annie takes her turn holding Devan, who as always, is fascinated by how gentle her voice is. Mags is currently laying on the bed, practicing waving her arms at Finnick. “When I was in therapy and treatment with him… well Annie can testify. He was calm and rational. He didn’t say things like that. Today, he just revealed he’s been bitter this whole time. It didn’t help that Johanna was probably bringing back memories and that Gale and Katniss were sitting together.”

“Johanna is one to speak her mind,” I sigh. “As for Katniss… I would think everything about her still triggers Peeta.”

“Thought he was better,” Annie says very calmly, tapping Devan’s belly repeatedly and making him squeal. “He was nice. No talking bad.”

“I’m sorry they got you overwhelmed, Annie,” Finnick says. 

“It is okay,” she tells him, smiling. “Misha helps. Like you.”

Finnick and Misha both turn pink. Praise from Annie must feel like a medal for both of them. 

Later in the night once they are ready to leave, Misha pulls me aside.

“I want to say thank you,” he starts, smiling in a way I never have seen him do it before. “I know you don’t believe Annie and I are just friends… and maybe you’re right because… I already have started to really like her… but I want to say thank you for teaching me that I shouldn’t rush this. Thank you for what we had, and for what lessons it taught me. I am really sorry that I wasn’t myself when I saw you again, and I caused trouble. But being with you and using that as a basis in therapy let me learn that you taught me how to be a good man. And now I want to take it slow with Annie. She helped me heal, and she is so amazing. I can see why Finnick is so protective of her. I want a chance for you and I to be friends again, because I think I’m going to need my best friend again so that I know how to keep going through this relationship.”

Hearing Misha be as excited as a child about liking a girl brings tears into my eyes, and I pull him into a tight hug, because it moves me so much to think that he’s actually better now. 

All that worries me is that he might be put to go to the Capitol like Finnick, and I will lose them both before all of this can really piece itself together.

________

As the mission to the Capitol nears, I hear one morning that Katniss, Misha, and Johanna are being given their exams to be assigned to a unit of sharpshooters that will head to the Capitol. I only know so far that Gale and Finnick are in the same unit, but aside from that I am kept in the dark about their test.

That is, until Haymitch comes to tell me that something went wrong with Johanna.

I sprint to the hospital after strapping the babies into their carriage, and they seem to enjoy the fast movement, which is beneficial to me because at least I can focus on Johanna, who lays curled up and covering her face on her bed.

“What happened?” I ask the doctors immediately. Instead of answering me, they usher me out the room and into the hallway where Haymitch has just gathered Finnick and Katniss.

“What happened to her?” I demand, looking right at Haymitch. 

“She had a problem with her test,” he says, looking saddened at the mere thought of it.

“How hurt is she?” Finnick asks. “What happened in the test?”

“She was on the Block… they try to ferret out a soldier’s potential weaknesses, so they flooded the street.”

“But Johanna can swim,” Katniss points out. “Maybe not as well as Finnick, but none of us are at that level. She can still swim.”

“The problem is that that’s how they tortured her in the Capitol. Soaked her and then used electric shocks. In the Block she had some kind of flashback. Panicked, didn’t know where she was. They sedated her, but the doctor said she should wake soon.”

I clap my hand over my mouth. Katniss looks like she’s feeling guilty about something, and Finnick just looks angry. But none of us say anything. It’s like we have simultaneously lost the ability to respond. 

“You should go see her,” Haymitch recommends. “Gale is busy, and I need to go talk to Plutarch. He won’t be happy. He wants as many victors as possible for the cameras to follow in the Capitol, and with Coin already not letting Morgan go and Annie not being able to in the first place… it’s difficult.”

“Are you and Beetee going?” I ask, now confused. I didn’t know that was what they actually wanted us for. Coin was hiding and planning more than they knew.

“As many young and attractive victors as possible,” Haymitch corrects himself. “So no, we’ll be here instead. Morgan, you and Annie, maybe, can help us.”

He then leaves, and so does Katniss, though it looks like she’s going to get something.

Finnick and I enter with the twins in tow, and meet Johanna just as she’s waking up.

“Hey,” I say softly as I sit on her bed. She looks confused at first, like she might go into a frenzy, but slowly sits back. I have never seen her look calmer. 

“Hi,” she replies, gulping visibly. “Can I see them?”

Finnick and I immediately bring out the babies, who greet their aunt with a pleasant series of baby noises. I see that it makes her smile, but she still has a faraway look in her eyes. 

Soon after, Katniss comes in with a bundle of pine needles. Initially, I am unsure what they are for, until she comes closer and prompts Johanna to smell it. This brings tears into Johanna’s eyes, and Devan and Mags seem to understand it enough to be a little quieter. 

Suddenly, Johanna grips Katniss’s wrist, her eyes wild. I’m about to move her away, until she says, “You have to kill him, Katniss.”

“Don’t worry,” Katniss says, clearly fighting the urge to wrench her arm free from what I’m sure is a taste of Johanna’s iron grip.

"Swear it. On something you care about," Johanna hisses. Devan and Mags squirm, sensing the tension in the room. Finnick swiftly takes Mags while I cradle Devan in my arms, rubbing their little backs to calm them down. 

"I swear it. On my life,” Katniss says, looking straight toward Johanna. 

"On your family's life," Johanna insists. 

"On my family's life," Katniss repeats. "Why do you think I'm going, anyway, brainless?" 

That makes Johanna smile a little. "I just needed to hear it." She presses the bundle of pine needles to her nose and closes her eyes, sighing softly. “Can you guys just leave me alone for a bit? And send in Gale when he has a chance.”

The fact that Johanna is out of commission and that Coin is still firm on not letting me go just makes me more and more anxious as the days draw nearer. 

I get a chance to watch some of their training exercises, which calms me a bit, as I get to observe them all using the high tech new weapons that have been fashioned for every soldier individually.

I usually breastfeed the babies while watching Katniss practice with her gun, since it’s not as entertaining. She tells me whenever I see her that she does it just to keep improving her skill, though her main focus is still shooting with her customized and very deadly Mockingjay bow and arrow set.

Gale gets a special militarized bow and arrow, while Beetee improves a trident design for Finnick. The most remarkable feature it has is that Finnick can throw it, press a button on a metal cuff on his wrist, and return it to his hand without chasing it down. 

It reminds me of when Beetee first showed us the weapons that could be created here. 

_At the door of the armory, we encountered a second round of identification checks— as if our DNA changed in the time it took to walk twenty yards down the hallway— and were finally allowed to enter the weapons collection._

_The sight of it took my breath away. Row upon row of firearms, launchers, explosives, armored vehicles. “Of course, the Airborne Division is housed separately,” Beetee told us._

_I found myself going nearer to where a handsome array of knives and axes are laid out, specifically to be used for military combat. Finnick forbade me from touching any, and bear hugged me from behind to simultaneously hold my arms down and rub my belly, which at the time was still flat._

_“See, don’t touch,” he whispered in my ear before nipping at my neck._

_“Party pooper,” I whined._

_“Okay, Soldier Reeves.”_

_“Okay, Soldier Odair.”_

_“Gale, maybe you’d like to try out a few of these,” Beetee called, which makes Finnick turn us all around. It seems since Gale will be part of Katniss’s team, he might need a bow. He took one with a scope on it._

_“That looks deadly,” Finnick said._

_“That also doesn’t seem very fair to the deer,” Katniss added._

_“Wouldn’t be using it on deer, would I?” Gale muttered._

_“I’ll be right back,” Beetee said. He pressed a code into a panel, and a small doorway opened. Once he disappeared, Katniss turned on Gale._

_“So it’d be easy for you? Using that on people?” She asked sharply._

_“I didn’t say that.” Gale drops the bow to his side. “But if I’d had a weapon that could’ve stopped what I saw in Twelve... if I’d had a weapon that could have kept you out of the arena... I’d have used it.”_

_Beetee then wheeled back in with a tall, black rectangular case awkwardly positioned between his footrest and his shoulder. He came to a halt and tilted it toward Katniss. “For you.”_

_She set the case flat on the floor and undid the latch along one side. The top opened on silent hinges. I gasped, because inside the case, on a bed of crushed maroon velvet, lay a stunning black bow._

_“Goddamn,” Finnick said, wolf whistling a bit in my ear._

_Katniss lifted the bow carefully into the air to admire what appeared to be exquisite balance as well as excellent design. She suddenly pressed the bow to her cheek, and I could see her skin ripple as if the bow is humming or vibrating, you take your pick. “What’s it doing?” She asked._

_“Saying hello,” explained Beetee with a grin. “It heard your voice.”_

_“She didn’t say anything,” I said with furrowed eyebrows._

_“I sort of gasped,” Katniss said, blushing. “Does that mean it recognizes my voice?”_

_“Only your voice,” Beetee confirmed. “You see, they wanted me to design a bow based purely on looks. As part of your costume, you know? But I kept thinking, What a waste. I mean, what if you do need it sometime? As more than a fashion accessory? So I left the outside simple, and left the inside to my imagination. Best explained in practice, though. Want to try those out?”_

_They do. A target range had already been prepared for all of us to use. The arrows that Beetee designed are no less remarkable than the bow. Between the two, Katniss shoots with an accuracy of over one hundred yards. I’m not sure if it’s her skill alone, or the effect of the bow, but I like to think it’s mostly her. The variety of arrows— razor-sharp, incendiary, explosive— turn the bow into a multi-purpose weapon, and Finnick and I gasp every now and then when she takes a shot. Each one is recognizable by a distinctive colored shaft. To deactivate the bow’s special properties, Katniss is told to tell it ‘Good night.’ Then it goes to sleep until the sound of her voice wakes it again, which I think is the best part of it._

But eventually the day comes that I no longer get to see them practice, and instead, I stand beside Johanna and Annie, holding my twins, while the Star Squad, which is the sharpshooter group Finnick, Gale, Misha, and Katniss are in, prepares to leave.

“I will come back to you,” Finnick promises as he leans down to kiss Devan and Mags softly, before looking back up to press a firm kiss on my lips. “I promise.”

That is the last time I get to touch Finnick before he and the other men are instructed to go into the hovercraft. Katniss comes over to me just as she finishes saying goodbye to Prim and her mother.

“I will keep them safe, the best I can,” she promises. “Finnick and Misha. For you, and for Annie.”

I don’t get to thank her properly before she’s ushered quickly away, and the hovercraft takes off, leaving with our loved ones and the uncertainty of their safe return.


	43. Chapter 43

The next few days are absolute murder.

For one, it becomes increasingly difficult to put the twins down and get them to eat. Despite having Annie and Johanna more than willing to help me, it isn’t the same for Devan and Mags. They are so used to falling asleep in Finnick’s arms after I nurse them, and even eating they like to be staring at him while he guides the spoon to their mouths. With the three of us women, they are constantly searching for him, and even Annie’s soothing voice doesn’t do much anymore.

Secondly, we all lose motivation. We become worried absolutely sick, because Haymitch, Plutarch, and Beetee are stuck below working with the sharpshooter squads and their tech, which means we do not get to see them and find out how things are going. Initially, we do not know how long the mission is meant to last, and all we have as an estimate is three days at most, though even that is highly uncertain. It becomes a burden for us to wake up, and stick to our routine. We struggle to make ourselves eat and bathe. If it were not for the twins, I don’t think any of us (me especially) would be out and about doing absolutely anything.

It doesn’t help that everyone else is coming to us and expecting answers. Hazelle, Gale’s mother, constantly comes to ask if we have heard anything. The only thing that stops Johanna from snapping is that Hazelle is always accompanied by Posy, who adores Johanna. Then Katniss’s mother and Prim are always popping into the hospital room we hang out in to keep Johanna company, which means we have to look at poor Prim’s devastated face as we tell her that we still have no updates about her sister. 

Third, it’s the fact that Coin doesn’t give us the time of day or even look at us when she passes us in the hallways. Twice already I have come across her when I am walking the twins around, and even after calling her name, I am not even given so much as a flinch to know she heard me. She is purposely keeping us in the dark more than she should, and it is aggravating to think that she may know the fate of my husband and of my friends, and she’s doing us the disservice of keeping quiet only now that we need her to break her silence. 

I find that I’m slowly starting to actually despise Coin. Initially, I did not like her, and after everything, I do not trust her and still do not respect her, but now I believe I have transitioned to the stage where I thoroughly hate her. 

“She’s absolutely insufferable,” I mumble to Johanna and Annie as we congregate in our compartment. We are crowded in my bathroom as I give the babies a bath. Annie is seated on the toilet, making faces at the twins whenever they look at her, and Johanna is sitting on the floor carving a soap bar with one of my hidden knives. 

“Not nice,” Annie says. Initially, I think she’s reprimanding me, but then she huffs. “Alma Coin is not nice. Used to visit, not anymore. Doesn’t care for mental health.”

“She used to check on your progress with Misha and Peeta?” I ask uncertainly.

“Yes. Mostly for Peeta. But she didn’t care, not really. Sometimes said mean things. Called us a bunch of crazies.”

“Well,” Johanna starts, and I cast her a look which stops her in her tracks. “Fine, you’re not crazy, none of you are. Just unstable, like the rest of us.”

“Sick of waiting,” Annie mutters. She looks more annoyed than I’ve ever seen her. “Only been awhile, and now am frustrated.”

“You miss getting cuddly with Misha?” Johanna teases as she holds up the soap, which resembles a piece of bark, despite the fact it is white and mint green. 

Annie’s cheeks turn pink. “Not like that, Johanna.” She hands me a towel as Devan is the first to come out all squeaky clean, since he doesn’t fuss as much as Mags. She doesn’t like having to stay still. Annie wraps the towel around Devan and pat dries him gently before cradling him in her arms. He coos and Annie smiles. “Devan understands.”

“Devan has seen you be cuddly with Misha,” Johanna notes. “At the wedding and at dinner the other day. Misha kissed your cheek.”

“We are just friends,” Annie insists. “For now.”

“Key words, for now!” Johanna says triumphantly.

Annie scowls a bit. “You are excited for this. It’s simple.”

“Johanna just likes playing matchmaker,” I say, bringing Mags out and draining the water. She squirms as I dry her gently, then relaxes and looks around the bathroom with big eyes, like she wants in on the conversation. I chuckle and hold her up. “Mags thinks that Johanna just wants Misha and Annie to like each other.”

Annie blushes. “Maybe later. A lot later. Misha and I have not been friends for long. Morgan and Finnick together, but after a year of friends. Misha and I have a month.”

“Alright, but you can’t deny he likes you,” Johanna says. “Isn’t that right, Devan?” He just wiggles at the sound of his name and gurgles a bit, making Annie laugh a bit.

“Misha can like me. But I told him… friends for now.”

“Yeah, that’s a good choice,” I tell her. “Besides, friends can still be affectionate with each other.”

This makes Annie stick her tongue out at Johanna, who simply rolls her eyes and holds up the soap to show she carved in ‘M + A.’

We take the twins to get dressed, and then settled into their cradles, before congregating back on the floor where I have set up blankets for us to have a sleepover. 

“Misha is kind,” Annie says as she flops down and hugs the pillow, looking almost forlorn. “He has changed.”

“Well, I didn’t know him,” Johanna says with a shrug. “I just know based off what Morgan told me about him.”

“One day,” Annie begins as she moves to stare up at the ceiling, probably to tell Johanna all about him, “Peeta was in treatment. Misha was… sad, because Peeta was crying. Peeta said before: unmanly to cry, unmanly to hug. But… Misha went and hugged him. Made him feel better.”

“That’s how Misha is,” I say, smiling at the memory she has shared. “He doesn’t like seeing people cry. While he can be really abrasive and not care about people’s feelings… once he empathizes or sympathizes with them… seeing them cry just about breaks his heart.”

“Like a cuddly bear or something,” Johanna teases.

“Yes!” Annie agrees. “Cuddly bear. Hugged Peeta till he stopped crying.”

“Once,” I recall, massaging my own wrists, “we had worked late in the mill, and when we were walking home, we saw a kid curled up near one of the forest entrances. Mind you, Misha didn’t like kids that much. But when we found out that he had been separated from his group and was far from home… literally, his town was miles from ours… Misha offered to carry him home, since it was a long way. And he did. He took him all the way home, in his arms, so he wouldn’t be cold and wouldn’t feel lonely, and especially so he wouldn’t have to strain himself while walking.”

“Wow, okay, that is far,” Johanna muses. “Your town was super far away from mine, and mine was the closest to yours heading out after the main marketplace.”

“Yep. And he took him the whole way.”

“Misha is strong,” Annie agrees. “Helped Peeta up whenever he would curl up on floor.”

“What other Misha adventures are there?” Johanna asks, now clearly very interested. 

Somehow, the night turns into an entire discussion about Misha, which I think fuels Johanna to want to set him up with Annie. Talking about him definitely makes Annie feel a bit better, since I know she is missing Finnick, Misha, Katniss, Gale, and Peeta a lot. Of course, she misses Finnick most because he is her best friend and has been for ages. But her growing connection with Misha is also weighing her down, and I think it helps her to talk about it.

I begin to remember every last snippet of memories I have with Misha, starting from when I met him, to the very last day I saw him when my reaping occurred. I find that it helps me too. Hearing from Annie about how kind Misha has become, and reminiscing on what I saw him say and do back when we lived in District Seven.

_“Hey there,” Misha had said to me within the first few hours I had begun working at the new mill. “How are you fitting in?”_

_So far, the only person that had bothered to try to talk to me had been Daphne, so I was quite unprepared to answer. “Oh! Hello… I’m fitting in alright.”_

_“Cool.” He leaned over on my counter. I couldn’t deny that he was really good looking, with well defined cheekbones and a nice jawline, as well as an intent gaze and strategically messy hair. “What do you like to do for fun, pretty girl?”_

_The statement had caught me completely off guard. I had just lost Brannock, and my heart still ached thinking about him. “Please, don’t flirt with me.”_

_“Oh,” he said, looking stunned. He probably wasn’t used to being brushed off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”_

_“It’s okay.”_

_“I’m Misha, by the way. Misha Combe. I live in the town near the big well that doesn’t work.”_

_“Really? I live in the same town, but on the side opposite of the well… nearer to the entrance out into the pasture. I’m Morgan, by the way.”_

_“Can’t believe we hadn’t met before,” he mused. “I thought I knew everyone in the town. What’s your last name?”_

_“Reeves.”_

_“Reeves… like Margaret and Logan Reeves? They were on the list of people who died in that supposed accident in the other mill.”_

_I tensed and nodded. “Yeah… those were my parents.”_

_He frowned, and his expression became saddened. “I’m really sorry for your loss. My folks are gone but they passed almost five years ago. Scarlet fever.”_

_After he had left, Daphne had moved closer to me and smirked. “Misha is the little hot head of the mill. Always tries to spark up revolts to get better pay. But no one is supporting enough. We need to feed ourselves. Some of them have many children.”_

_“He seems nice,” I said. “But I wouldn’t trust him yet.”_

_“Oh, definitely not. Misha can be… interesting.”_

I soon learned that he really was interesting. I had gotten to see firsthand how he sometimes tried to egg people on to join him to revolt. How he was extra flirty with some of the women to make them smile.

But between that, Misha was the cuddly bear we were discussing tonight. I remember when he first met Gretchen, he was incredibly sweet to her, and entertained her for hours on end with stories and with jokes and funny faces that made my sweet little sister feel like she wasn’t just the invalid girl of the town.

While he really hadn’t liked kids too much, Misha had always treated Gretchen with respect, as he had with every kid he came in contact with. Sometimes it was just cracking a joke to make them laugh. Sometimes it was helping them carry supplies home if they looked too heavy for them. Misha had been known for being as helpful as he was rebellious. To the public eye, he was a sweetheart that just had a fiery passion for reform, which was both what built him up and what tore him down in the end. 

Whenever things went wrong at the mill, it was Misha who spoke up first and tried to reason with the Peacekeepers. Whenever someone was sick and wasn’t being given a day off, he offered to work their shift to compromise for them to go home and recover. Whenever an older person was being forced into a heavy job, Misha went to do it for them and stayed late to finish the work that he had left behind.

“Misha used to be really really sweet,” I sigh, noticing Annie is smiling like a kid. “He had some misplaced anger and maybe he could be a little too rough with his words and actions sometimes, but his heart was always in the right place. That’s why it shocked me to see how he was. He could be rude before, but usually he could hold back because he knew better. He was selective about who received his kindness. Now… you helped him go back to normal, Annie.”

“All the reason you should definitely get to know him better, date him, and marry him,” Johanna says happily to Annie, who blushes. It reminds me of when Daphne told me something similar, which was the moment I was remembering when giving birth, since she had been telling me that she was thankful she couldn’t have children. 

_“What’s the use of it all?” she had said. “For them to grow up like we did and work in mills? You’re lucky to be a runner, you at least see the outside more often. Some of us are in the factory for so many hours we start to forget what the sun looks like. Look at Misha. Pale as milk.”_

_“I guess so,” I had agreed halfheartedly. “But even if they are… what did you call them… ‘an unnecessary mountain of pain and an inconvenience’.... It’d be nice to have a family.”_

_Daphne raised her eyebrows. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about the future like that. You have told me how you feel terrible for all the children in our District.”_

_By then, Misha and I had already begun to see each other at his house, but I hadn’t told anyone yet. Daphne’s comment made me turn red, and she smiled knowingly._

_“You and Misha, hmm?” she asked slyly. “Well… he has been much nicer since he came to the mill. Seems to sort of like being here now. He tries to impress you all the time, you know. Show off. I suppose you and him are thinking about having kids?”_

_“No!” I said quickly, my eyes wide. My cheeks were probably beet red. “No… no… not going to happen right now…”_

_“Right now, hmm. But in the future? Who knows.”_

“Misha is very good,” Annie sighs once we finish sharing memories, and apparently convincing Johanna to make Misha and Annie end up together, or something. “He just has feelings that are sometimes not good.”

She shifts her weight to sit in a different position, and smiles a bit, looking shyly away from us. “I do not like like Misha yet. Not yet. I like him, but not like like. I want to get healthy. I want Misha healthy, first. I am not fully better. Misha is not fully better.”

“Take your time,” I tell her, gently taking her hand. “You dictate your future. You are free to do so now. When they come back—“

“If they come back,” Johanna cuts in. Annie whimpers a bit and scoots slightly closer to me. 

I sigh and shake my head. “No. When. When they come back.” I squeeze Annie’s hand lightly. “When they come back… you can further that relationship if you want. Finnick and I will stand by you. I think that Misha is much better now. Of course, probably not fully healed, but much better. He is how he used to be. And he won’t hurt you. He trusts you, and he cares about you. I know he does like you.”

Annie calms down, and offers me a small smile. “He can be a mess, when feelings bad. But, he gets better from it. He needs to be held. Cuddled. He learned to cry. Crying… is okay. His brain healed wrong. Now, he has healed good. Will be better soon, and then… we will see.”

It seems all the talk of Misha and Annie has gotten to Johanna. “I like Gale a lot,” she blurts out. Slowly, I see she starts pinching herself a bit. “And it worries me he won’t come back in time for me to tell him.” 

I feel myself starting to get emotional, and I take Johanna’s hand as well. “They are coming back to us,” I whisper. “They will come back to us.”

But honestly, I doubt my own words.

_________

The day that the hovercraft arrives, we are seated at breakfast when we hear the news. 

Annie and Johanna are beside me with their trays. Devan and Mags are in their carriers, waiting for me to eat so they can go for their nap. Usually, they can just fall asleep anywhere, but today they seem particularly alert, and they are unable to sleep because they are so preoccupied paying attention to what is happening around them.

“You little sillies, go to sleep,” I whisper between bites of food. Devan simply stares back as if urging me to hurry up to take him to his comfortable bed, and Mags whines impatiently, as if telling me that my hunger isn’t important.

“They’re really fidgety,” Johanna notes as she nibbles on a small piece of bread. “Wonder if maybe your breast milk had loads of sugar.”

“I highly doubt it,” I say. I have been sticking to a strict diet since I gave birth, which Vivi has been monitoring.

Suddenly, one of Coin’s men has approached the table and motioned for us to stand. Realizing quickly what this might mean, Annie, Johanna, and I grab the twins and spring up to follow him. He takes us straight to Command, where Coin is with Boggs. 

“What happened?” I ask immediately. Devan and Mags are fussy in my arms, probably annoyed they can’t go to sleep yet.

“Are they back?” Johanna demands.

“Not back here,” Boggs says as Coin motions for us to sit at the table with them. We do, but we are all on edge. Johanna looks entirely tense. Annie is biting her nails and wiggling like a worm.

“Boggs has just returned in the hovercraft that left,” Coin says, wringing her hands together. “None of the soldiers were brought back. We have seized the Capitol, and they are residing there at the hospital.”

“Is anyone dead? Alive?” I ask. 

“We are not in a position to disclose that information to you at this given time,” Coin tells us in an almost robotic voice. “You three are allowed to accompany Boggs and I back to the Capitol to see them in the hospital. The babies are to be left here.”

“You have to at the very least tell us what we will be seeing!” Johanna snarls. “Who we should expect to see and who isn’t going to be there!”

“I myself am not even fully informed,” Coin says sharply. “We will find out when we arrive.”

“But there are only a limited number of soldiers!” I snap, annoyed that she is being so indifferent to our worries. I just despise her too much now to like anything that comes out of her mouth. “You should be able to tell us who is accounted for and who isn’t!”

“The soldiers,” she snaps loudly, “are not the only patients at the hospital. A medical team was sent earlier today, and many of them are in critical condition as far as I know.”

“Your medical team is in critical condition?” Johanna growls, standing up. “What about the soldiers? They’re the ones that went to fight! What aren’t you telling us? Why is the medical team injured? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED, HUH?”

Devan and Mags begin to cry, and Coin stands up and walks out without another word. Annie, to my surprise, holds Johanna back from launching herself at her, though Johanna doesn’t seem to have been wanting to do that. 

“I’m really sorry,” Boggs says, giving us a grave look. “I don’t know fully well what anyone’s condition is, I just reported what I knew.”

“Well?” I demand as I try to soothe the twins, who are wailing loudly. “What got them all in critical condition?”

“All I can tell you right now is that there was a bomb. I’m sorry.”

He then leads us to the hovercraft, where Coin has already gotten strapped in and comfortable. The attendants take Devan and Mags and hand them off to Haymitch as he comes through the door to see us off. 

“Haymitch!” Johanna says anxiously, though I know most of the shakiness in her voice is probably from built up rage towards Coin. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No,” he answers, shaking his head. “Plutarch and I can’t go yet, there is something we need to do. I’ll take care of the twins, Morgan!”

Devan and Mags are definitely not too pleased to be away from me, but they definitely recognize Haymitch, because I notice they wiggle against his chest as they are given to him.

“Thank you!” I say. “They’re exhausted, they’ll probably nap soon!”

That’s all they let me say before the doors close and we take off. I can’t help but feel that something about Haymitch and Plutarch staying behind is suspicious. Something is terribly wrong and they aren’t telling us.

Thinking about it just puts me on edge for the entire ride. 

When we arrive to the Capitol hospital, everything seems to be blurred. I see medical personnel rushing all over, taking gurneys with burned victims and others with a dead body. I am finding that Johanna and Annie are swaying just as much as I am. Was that someone we knew? Their faces are so charred we can’t recognize them.

“The Star Squad was put over in this wing with the medical team that got bombed,” Boggs says as he leads us there. Coin walks alongside him with an indifferent expression, like she doesn’t care that everyone around us is dying, and died because of this mission.

As we pass one of the beds, I turn my head out of curiosity, because I recognize the shoes set aside near the door.

What I see makes me nearly throw up.

Vivi is unrecognizable as she lays in the bed, but I know it is her, because the memory of her shoes gives it away. Vivi’s shoes are some of the strangest I’ve seen in Thirteen, a design that looks very uncomfortable, but so unique to her, because one of the folds makes a ‘V.’ I almost choke, because beside her lays a smaller, also unrecognizable body, but the unmistakable braids let me know it’s Prim.

“They’re the only ones who survived the blast,” Boggs tells us gravely. “The others came in either dead or about to die. When I left, they were unsure if either Vivi or Prim would make it. They were the leaders of the medical team that flew in.”

I have to clap my hand over my mouth to try and stop myself from crying. Little Prim looks near death, as does Vivi. Will they be able to recover from injuries this severe?

Annie and I are both in tears as Boggs takes us to where the Star Squad is. Johanna looks like she might faint, but is trying to fuel herself forward with anger. I start to panic. Finnick must have been a tremendous target after everything he exposed of Snow alongside me in our talk about the mandated prostitution. Gale and Katniss have been doing this often, and they are definitely wanted. Misha might be a bit safer, but as part of the Star Squad, he is in imminent danger anyway. Peeta... Coin had to have sent him to die anyway. I don’t even remember how many people were in the initial Star Squad, because all I cared about were Finnick, Katniss, Misha, Peeta, and Gale.

But even without knowing how many there were at first, I can tell by how Boggs looks into the room they are all laid in that more than one person is missing.

And I can tell by the way he looks back at us that it’s one of our five.


	44. Chapter 44

The biggest problem is, we are not allowed into the room on the day we arrive. No, Boggs simply leads us there, and then ushers us away, which goes wrong immediately because we are all desperate to see if our loved ones are in those beds. Guards are forced to hold us back as we try to go in to see them… if they are even there.

“I HAVE TO SEE FINNICK!” I scream, trying desperately to fight against the man holding me back and practically dragging me to where we will be staying at President Snow’s mansion.

“The survivors are in critical condition,” Boggs says in a strained voice. “I’m sorry, Morgan.”

_“The survivors… I’m sorry, Morgan.”_

Boggs’s words ring in my ears the rest of the day as I lay in frustration on the bed of the room I have been assigned. Annie and Johanna are my neighbors, and both were as angry as me, though both were sedated because they were overwhelmed. 

He didn’t say “You can see him later, Morgan” or “He will still be here when you come back later, Morgan.” No, it was ominous and unspecified as to whether he is even alive. The only indication I have that he is alive is the fact I am here, but even then, Johanna and Annie are here as well. Is Finnick still alive, or not?

It takes days for us to find out anything. By then, the twins are brought here on the train with Haymitch, Plutarch, and Beetee. They are given updates. Johanna, Annie, and I are not. 

For several nights in a row now we have laid down to sleep feeling absolutely terrified of what we will find out. We don’t discuss it like we used to, because now it is very real and very frustrating to not know who lies in one of the hospital beds and who does not.

It doesn’t help that we don’t receive good news about Vivi and Prim, who are so far the only patients we know. Vivi is getting worse, from what they are implying. Prim is in the same state as before, but it seems that it’s a very bad thing since she should have begun improving already.

“They’re going to die,” Johanna whispers hoarsely one night after Annie has already fallen asleep on the floor near the twins’ new cradle. “Vivi is going to die. Prim is going to die.”

“No they’re not,” I hiss at her, huggin my own knees. “Neither Vivi or Prim is going to die.”

“What if Katniss is dead? What if they have a deadly infection and that’s why we can’t see them? What if their burns have burst open and they’re in danger of dying from human contact?”

“Johanna, they don’t have a deadly infection,” I mutter, though even I don’t believe it anymore. Johanna has been so pessimistic and cynical that it is starting to rub off on me. 

“But they might. They haven’t told us jack shit.”

“Haymitch and Plutarch wouldn’t be keeping secrets from us if it was that bad. We know for certain that at least two of them are dead. We just don’t know which two.”

“Finnick could be dead,” Johanna says, covering her face. “Finnick could be dead and they’re keeping it a secret so you don’t break down, because the twins are still little.”

“Finnick isn’t dead,” I tell her sharply, pressing my forehead on my kneecaps. “He’s… fine. Gale is fine. Peeta is fine. Misha is fine.”

“You know that isn’t true. One of them is dead. Boggs basically told us when he looked back. That’s why they didn’t let us see them. They’re waiting for the ones near death to die so that they give us the blow all in one.”

“Johanna, please stop…”

“Blight died. I thought Blight wouldn’t die, he was unproblematic. There was a plan. But Blight died. I almost died. Finnick and Gale could be dead, Morgan.”

“Johanna!” I snap, loud enough that it wakes Annie, and she begins to cry. Johanna doesn’t seem to care, so it is up to me to go and give her a hug and attempt to calm her down, especially before her sobbing gets loud enough to wake the babies.

But for nights I lay awake thinking of what Johanna keeps saying. What if Finnick is dead, and they don’t think I can handle it? What if they really are waiting for those nearer to death to die first before telling us the state of the others?

Finally, the day comes that Boggs comes to collect us. “They have been moved to their separate rooms, and you can see them now.”

Johanna, Annie, and I bolt up quickly and follow Boggs out of the mansion and to the hospital.I am hyperventilating as we are led into the ward of patients who are part of the burn unit, which I outright assume is everyone from the Star Squad.

Is Finnick going to be in one of the beds? Is Katniss? Gale? Misha? Peeta?

I am terrified as I walk forward, observing the faces of those from the Star Squad as we pass by their rooms. I don’t recognize most because I never met them, but they seem to know who I am (those that are conscious, anyway). I notice that they stare at me as if expecting me to tell them something, but I am too worried to tell them anything.

The first one we stumble upon is Katniss, and she is still quite burned and wrapped in bandages.

“Katniss!” I say, rushing to her side and gently taking her hand, which isn’t as damaged.

She looks at me and her eyes widen, and she begins to whimper, like she can’t speak, but is desperately trying to tell me something. “We saw Prim when we arrived the other day,” I tell her, assuming that she wants an update on her sister… which is assuming she saw her. I’m not sure, but I tell her anyway. “Alive. Critical condition. I’m sure they will figure something out, alright? She is still alive.”

This seems to calm Katniss down. She squeezes her eyes shut and makes a small coughing noise, before beginning to cry. She lays back, and weakly puts some pressure against my hand, like she is relieved at what I have told her. I have to assume that she must have thought her sister was dead.

The next room is Gale’s. Johanna is the one that moves toward him immediately. He is not as injured as Katniss, but still a little burned, and he seems to have been shot twice. He is fully conscious, and definitely very aware of what is happening.

“You’re okay,” Johanna whispers as she hugs him, which makes Gale groan ever so softly, but he doesn’t hesitate to hug her back.

“How is Katniss?” He asks Johanna. “Did they let you see her?”

“She’s okay,” I tell him, half smiling. “Better once I told her Prim was alive.”

Gale sighs and shuts his eyes. “Good. I keep hearing the doctors saying that Katniss won’t talk, but they refused to update me…”

Annie and I move forward to the next room alone, since Johanna stays behind with Gale for a bit. We find Peeta laying almost as burned as Katniss, if not more. He is sleeping or unconscious at the moment, I’m not sure which. Annie moves forward to observe him, but she looks hesitant to try and touch him. 

I don’t know whose face I am expecting when we pass to the next room, but it’s not Vivi’s. After seeing the sequence of Katniss, Gale, and Peeta, I am expecting to see either Finnick or Misha’s face. The fact that it is neither is what makes me let out a soft gasp.

Vivi looks up weakly. It looks like she can barely move from how burned she is. “M-M-Morgan?”

I move steadily forward. “Vivi… hey…” 

“S-So… g-good…” she doesn’t finish her sentence, and instead coughs a bit, shaking her head. Her eyes are watering like she can scarcely breathe. Vivi, who used to be dexterous and meticulous and so confident, now looks vulnerable and weak and barely alive. 

I am about to ask if she is feeling any better, when she reaches out and seizes my hand, her eyes wild. “N-No… m-medicine.”

“No medicine?” I ask, feeling startled but also saddened because her grip is incredibly weak, like she can barely feel her hand. “Vivi… I’m sure you need it.”

She shakes her head. “P-Prim… n-needs.”

“So do you,” I insist. “You both need medicine.”

“N-Not… e-enough... f-for….” she weakly points to herself. “Prim…”

The machines start beeping, which is something I don’t understand. Within seconds, medical personnel are coming in and shoving me aside to where Annie awaits, in shock, out in the hallway.

We have no choice but to keep walking. In the next bed is Prim, and she’s not awake. Annie starts to whimper, especially more when at the next doorway, the man laying there is not someone we recognize.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I step back, my body hitting the wall behind me. Finnick and Misha are nowhere in sight. Why not? Shouldn’t they be nearest the others? Is it possible they are just in another row of rooms? If so, why? It makes no sense to me.

Is it possible that the father of my children is dead? That I will never again get to see him tickle their little bellies and tell them all about the sea and the creatures in it? Will I never get to be intimate with him or laugh with him? Will my children have to grow up hearing stories about how brave their father was, and live only knowing him from the pictures and videos that exist, which are mostly just memories of the horrible Games and jobs we were forced into?

And what of Misha? Misha, my friend who I thought I lost for two years before finding out he was alive? The man who I saw help others even when there was no benefit for him? The man I saw lose his mind and find it again once doctors realized what had been done to him? The man who had grown and once again become my friend, and had even been attempting to build a relationship with Annie?

I don’t know how, but somehow my feet move, and my vocal chords ask the questions that have been lingering in my mind since the moment the hovercraft took off. 

_Where is Finnick? How is Finnick?_

Everything seems to blur as I am led away. The nurse hardly gives me an outright statement of whether my husband is still alive. She leads Annie and I toward elevators, and even then my vision simply refuses to clear itself.

But next thing I know, I am standing in the doorway of a room on the neurology floor, and in it is the form of Finnick on a bed. My feet take off, and in an instant, Annie and I have both enveloped Finnick in a hug so tight, it wakes him up immediately.

“Morgan! Annie!” he cries, wrapping his arms around us. He is crying, and I find that within seconds, so am I.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, cupping his face. “You’re okay…”

But I soon find that things are not as good as they seem,

While Finnick’s face and upper body are virtually unscarred and without a bit of damage, his lower extremities are no longer functioning. He is paralyzed from the waist down, and has gashes on his legs as though he was mauled by some mutt.

“We were in a sewer system,” he recalls once Annie and I have settled at his side. “Lizard mutts… came for us. I got attacked. Misha…”

It is only then that I realize I have momentarily forgotten about Misha. 

“Misha…” Finnick swallows hard. “He got me out. He carried me away, fought off the mutts who were attacking. Katniss… she was going to blow them up. They had already killed one of the Leeg sisters, Jackson, Castor, and Holmes. We couldn’t beat them. Misha set me down and he took the Holo from her… and made sure he baited them toward it.”

Annie lets out a sob and covers her face. My entire body goes rigid.

Misha, selfless as always, sacrificed himself for the rest of the team to get out alive. Misha, who had once loved me, saved the man I love and the father of my twins. 

“I tried to tell him not to do it,” Finnick says quietly, looking at me apologetically. “But he wanted to make sure they died. We had almost lost Boggs before, and Misha didn’t want to take any chances. He said if Katniss tossed down the Holo, they might evade it, and some might survive. He insisted he had to do it, that it was only right that no one else die. He said he had to make sure I got back because of you two and the twins. He told me to tell you both he loved you.”

“Oh, Misha,” I whisper, biting my lip as I try not to cry.

I have so many different feelings flooding through my system as I rethink every last word that has come out of Finnick’s mouth.

I am hurt that Misha had to be one of the soldiers that lost their lives in this horrible fight. 

I am angry that it came down to him sacrificing himself because there really wouldn’t have been any other way for them to get out alive.

I am annoyed that Misha’s hero complex always led him to give up his own health for the sake of the mission and the others. 

I am thankful that Misha saved Finnick and Boggs and Katniss and the rest that he could.

But on top of all of that, I am confused. 

How could the cruel world that has already taken so much from us, decide that Misha’s life is one of the last that needs to be taken to make things right. How could it be that after everything was starting to get better, his was the life that had to be lost for the others to advance. 

It doesn’t take long for Annie to get completely overwhelmed and run out, though I know she won’t go too far. Finnick sighs and rubs his temples, before beckoning for me to climb into the bed with him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers once I’ve cuddled up next to him. He does his best to dry my tears with his hospital gown. “I’m sorry…”

Part of me knew that one of them was going to die. Part of me knew that perhaps it would be Misha. While I didn’t think it outright, I knew better than anyone that Misha loved to be the hero, to make the sacrifice, to be the one that made the necessary change. For Misha, it would serve as perfect closure to die. He had said he felt terrible for being so mean to me. Misha always takes it so hard on himself. If I had known, I would have advocated for Misha to be kept behind. 

But if Misha hadn’t gone, perhaps Boggs and Finnick would both be dead. Maybe even Katniss, Gale, and Peeta. We wouldn’t be standing here. We’d be back in Thirteen. Maybe then, Coin would have made me the Mockingjay to take over for the next assault and attempt at seizing the Capitol. 

I can only really do one thing. Allow myself to cry. And I do, burying my face in Finnick’s chest. I’m saddened for him being paralyzed, confined to wheelchairs and his bed until something can be done. I’m saddened because Vivi and Prim seem to be in so much pain, and I’m scared they won’t make it. I’m saddened because Katniss was too terrified to speak, and Gale was shot, and Peeta was burned. I’m saddened because Annie didn’t get her chance with Misha. I’m saddened because Misha and I will never get to fully rekindle our friendship. 

The worst part is, I know that Alma Coin isn’t losing any sleep over this.

_________

Weeks later, it seems things are starting to come to a true end.

Dr. Aurelius, who is assigned to all the patients from the Star Squad, comes to update Finnick and I that he may never walk again, unless by some miracle his body heals enough to respond to therapy. 

I also find out that Vivi has passed. It comes as a shock to me, because the few times I was allowed to visit her, all she would do was try and tell me they were giving her medicine that should go to Prim. Later, I find out that selfless, ingenious Vivi found a way to transfer her medicine to Prim at certain times in the day. While it ultimately helps Prim, and leads her to be able to stay conscious more often as well as respond better to treatment, it is what kills Vivi in the end.

“I can’t thank her enough,” Katniss whispers to me as we sit in an isolated hallway, just hanging out for the day. Katniss has been overwhelmed by her therapy, and the fact that Prim still hasn’t fully recovered, and the fact that Peeta is still in the burn unit. She has been talking to me about conversations she had with Peeta. How she expects that one day, he is going to be better. 

Finnick is with the twins, Johanna, Gale, and Annie today, to give Katniss some time to relax. The original plan was for me to join them, but Katniss insisted she wanted me there to rant to, which I don’t mind.

“Vivi has always been like that. So determined to heal people,” I say back, squeezing her hand. Katniss blinks away a few tears and leans back against the wall.

“I’m sick of walking around this place to try and clear my head. Coin keeps saying I’ll get to kill Snow soon. He’s somewhere in here, I know it. I want to find him.”

“We can sneak about and see what’s here, if you want,” I offer, knowing it might make her feel better.

Realistically, it will make me feel better too. Since I found out about Misha, I have been crying enough to water every plant in Panem. While our friendship had not yet bloomed again, I lost my partner in crime before he could become that once more. Katniss has become my other partner in crime since we got close before, and being with her reminds me of every platonic moment I spent with Misha. 

We begin to walk, and Katniss leads the way to a part of the enormous mansion that neither of us have been to before. It is lonely and quiet, with thick carpets and heavy tapestries that soak up all the sound. The colors are muted and the lighting is soft. It’s peaceful, until Katniss and I smell roses.

Katniss yanks me behind some curtains, her eyes wide, her senses heightened, as if she is expecting something. When nothing comes, she slowly steps out into the hall.

“I thought mutts were going to come out,” she mutters. “We’re probably near his garden.”

“Are you sure you want to head down there?”

“Yes.”

I don’t argue as we continue to creep down the hall. The odor becomes completely overwhelming, and I wince thinking of the entire garden that we will find at the end of this path. I am reminded of every job I ever had to do for the sick bastard that is President Snow, and I feel goosebumps rising on my skin. I blame him for Misha’s death.

As we turn a corner, I flinch at the sight of two guards, a man and woman wearing tattered rebel clothes. Both are guarding the doorway of roses while bandaged and gaunt. 

Katniss ignores them, and moves to enter, but their guns abruptly form an X to block her path.

“You can’t go in, miss,” the man tells her.

“Soldier,” the woman corrects him. “You can’t go in, Soldier Everdeen. Nor you, Soldier Reeves. President’s orders.”

Katniss stares blankly at them, as if waiting for them to understand that she needs to go in. I know what it is that she wants without her needing to say it. A rose. Something of Snow’s. Perhaps to place on his lapel for when she executes him. 

“Let them in,” a voice says before I can ask them nicely to remove their guns from the door. I turn and see Paylor, the commander from Eight, who I met a short time ago. 

"On my authority," Paylor says to the guards. "They have a right to anything behind that door." 

They drop their weapons without question and let Katniss pass, and I trot in behind her. At the end of a short hallway, she pushes apart the glass doors and steps inside. 

As soon as I follow her in, I almost want to pass out from how strong the smell is. Lately, all I’ve been smelling is baby poop, milk, and bubbles from how I bathe Finnick and them now that he can’t do it himself.

The roses look incredible. Row after row of sumptuous blooms, in lush pink, sunset orange, and even pale blue. Katniss wanders through the aisles of carefully pruned plants, as if still wondering which one she might want.

I don’t say anything as she approaches a magnificent white bud just beginning to open. She looks back at me and nods before pulling her left sleeve over her hand so that her skin won't actually have to touch it. She takes up a pair of pruning shears, and positions herself to cut it.

"That's a nice one." 

Every hair on my body stands as the shears snap shut, and the bud falls. 

I look around, but I have no idea where Snow is. "The colors are lovely, of course, but nothing says perfection like white." His voice seems to rise up from an adjacent bed of red roses, but even after squinting, I can’t make out his figure.

Katniss picks the bud and beckons for me to follow her, and as we move around the corner, we find him sitting on a stool against the wall. 


	45. Chapter 45

President Snow is as well groomed and finely dressed as ever, but he is weighed down with ankle shackles, manacles, and wired up with tracking devices. His skin is a sickly green, and in his hands is a handkerchief spotted with fresh blood. Despite the clear deteriorated state he is in, his snake eyes are shining as bright and cold as I remember them.

“I was hoping you’d both find your way to my quarters,” he says simply. This is his new home, probably one of the favorite rooms of his mansion before his downfall. Now it’s his prison. Interesting to think that Coin let him stay here. Perhaps she wants to pretend she’s merciful, so that if this ever happens to her, they will let her have some luxury rather than toss her in the deepest dungeon deprived of light and comfort. 

“There are so many things we need to discuss,” Snow begins. “But… I have a feeling your visit will be very brief. So first things first.” He begins to cough, and when he removes the handkerchief from his mouth, it is even redder. He turns to Katniss. “I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am about your sister.”

Katniss tenses. Snow thinks Prim to be dead, when in fact, she is recovering very slowly. But Katniss plays it off as though he is right, and breathes in sharply.

"So wasteful, so unnecessary,” he muses, purposely trying to hurt Katniss without realizing that he is playing himself. “Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue an official surrender when they released those parachutes." His eyes are glued on her, unblinking, so as not to miss a second of her reaction. 

But something about Katniss’s slight lip twitch makes me frown. I was not there, but she was, and something about the parachute mention makes her look very confused.

"Well, you really didn't think I gave the order, did you?” Snow says almost in a mocking tone, though he sounds dead serious. “Forget the obvious fact that if I'd had a working hovercraft at my disposal, I'd have been using it to make an escape. But that aside, what purpose could it have served? We both know I'm not above killing children, but I'm not wasteful. I take life for very specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children. None at all." 

Part of me wants to doubt it as he goes into another coughing fit, but Katniss and I look at each other and an agreement is said without words. He isn’t lying. While I don’t know exactly what happened, I can tell he’s not lying about this/ 

"However, I must concede it was a masterful move on Coin's part,” Snow continues as he tucks the handkerchief on his lap. “The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children instantly snapped whatever frail allegiance my people still felt to me. There was no real resistance after that. Did you know it aired live? You can see Plutarch's hand there. And in the parachutes. Well, it's that sort of thinking that you look for in a Head Gamemaker, isn't it?" Snow dabs the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure he wasn't gunning for your sister, but these things happen." 

Despite Prim not being dead, Katniss’s eyes are wild, like Prim has indeed been wiped off the face of the earth. I have no idea what she is thinking, and I wish I knew. 

"My failure," says Snow, "was being so slow to grasp Coin's plan. To let the Capitol and districts destroy one another, and then step in to take power with Thirteen barely scratched. Make no mistake, she was intending to take my place right from the beginning. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it was Thirteen that started the rebellion that led to the Dark Days, and then abandoned the rest of the districts when the tide turned against it. But I wasn't watching Coin. I was watching you, Mockingjay. And you were watching me. I'm afraid we have both been played for fools." 

He then turns to me, and smirks. “And you, weren’t you supposed to be the alternate Mockingjay? But you were not at the Capitol. I didn’t think you and Finnick would last, at first. I hear, however, you have children? A boy and a girl? Interesting that Coin forced you into that procedure… even my doctors here would never attempt something so foolish. One, I hear they had barely experimented on pregnancies with one fetus. But two… without prior experimentation… risky. I think that Coin never wanted you to be a Mockingjay. I think she kept you thinking that so she could push you into the procedure and you wouldn’t realize she had another plan. Maybe to have you support her when she thought of replacing me. It’d be easy… you’d trust her because she made sure your children had at least one parent left…”

It is Katniss who speaks in response to it. “I don’t believe you,” she says coldly.

Snow shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other."

Katniss seems to have had it. She turns to leave, and I follow her without another word to Snow, who lets out a dry chuckle as we depart.

Out in the hall, we find Commander Paylor standing in exactly the same spot. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks, mostly to Katniss.

She simply holds up the white bud and walks past her. I follow her hurriedly, knowing her mind must be spinning. “Katniss!” I call. “Katniss… talk to me!”

She turns abruptly and looks at me, her eyes wild all over again. “The Capitol sent the hovercraft,” she says, grabbing my shoulders. “They dropped the parachutes, they sacrificed their own children, they knew the rebels would help them. There was a Capitol seal on the hovercraft.” I nod to her, and she shakes me slightly. “But then why didn’t they fire at the enemy? And if it was our people, why would they fire knowing their medics would respond and be taken out by the second blast? No… Snow has to be lying.”

I just nod, letting her work it out for herself. I find that it helps Katniss to just talk it out so she can figure it out herself. 

“But the bombs,” she adds, shaking her head, and squeezing my shoulders. “Maybe… maybe the Capitol had the same weapon. But I’m certain we did… it was Gale and Beetee’s brainchild. And what of Snow not trying to escape? And what he said about Coin? She did exactly what he said she would. She let the Capitol and the districts run one another into the ground and then sauntered in to take power. Even if that was her plan, it doesn't mean she dropped those parachutes… I don’t know. Victory was already in her grasp. Everything was in her grasp, essentially. Except… me.”

I sigh, and take her hands. “Everything about Coin has been bothering me since the beginning. Her insistence for the procedure only to not make me fight. You know, she didn’t initially want to send you into the Capitol, but she did, and she sent Peeta. And what Snow said about her wanting me to trust her…”

“What I was thinking while I was out there… she didn’t care if Peeta and I lived or died. And she must have been the one to approve Prim going out, because who else would let a thirteen year old be part of the team that went out? Vivi is dead and Prim is recovering slower than expected. Did she not care if Prim died? If Vivi died? She knew Vivi was one of her best doctors, and now Vivi is gone.”

“I think she’s planning something,” I mutter. “And she wanted us to focus on the war so she could scheme on the side… we’d have never figured it out. She kept making it seem like she wanted to dispose of you and I was her backup if she needed it. She always said something that Snow used to tell me, about the difference between you and I. How I was a controlled spark of fire. It’s like Coin has just been using me to make herself look good… to show she protected a mother, to have people see me and follow me if something happened to you… which would mean she’d try to manipulate me so people in turn support her…”

The talk is making my head spin. What I have said has clearly struck something in Katniss, though, because she furrows her eyebrows and releases my shoulders. “I have to see Haymitch. I just… I do. Go check on Finnick and your twins, please.”

She runs off, and I have no choice but to go back to my room. I find Johanna, Gale, and Annie are playing on the floor with the babies, and Finnick is in his wheelchair staring out the window.

“Mama is home!” Annie coos, which makes Devan and Mags squeal and look all over for me. I go and peck their foreheads before patting Annie, Johanna, and Gale’s heads in sequence. I then go to Finnick, who looks completely lost in thought.

“Hey,” I whisper, kneeling beside him. “How are you feeling?”

“More like what am I feeling,” he says, looking completely disillusioned. “Still nothing in my lower half. Gale had to help me use the bathroom again. Can’t control anything. It’s stupid. I used to think my lower half would give out from all the jobs with people who were so demanding… and now it has given out and I can’t do shit alone.”

“We’re going to keep taking you to therapy,” I say, moving his chair closer to the bed. I sit and bring his legs onto my lap to massage them gently. Dr. Aurelius told me it might help, somewhat. “We’re going to try everything we have to, if it means you’ll be okay. Alright?”

“If it doesn’t work, it’s going to be so pitiful,” he mutters. He won’t even look at me. I know he is hurting, despite the fact he can’t feel any physical pain from his injuries. “We just got married a short time ago, and I can’t make love to you the way I wish I could. We have babies that are just months old, and I can’t help much with them. I wasn’t much help before, because they made me train and then I left. Now, I’m completely useless.”

“Finnick, don’t say that,” I tell him as my hands work their way around the bandages on his thighs. “You can still hold them, and they are still calmer when you’re around. If you really want to, you can change their diapers. But it’s okay, I can manage it. Our focus right now is helping you get better. Eventually, you will be able to walk again, and do all the love making you want.”

“It’s not looking good at all right now,” he grumbles, not really acknowledging what I have said at all. “Annie hasn’t been herself since she found out Misha died. Maybe he should have just lived, and then I would be dead instead of having to deal with this.”

“Finnick,” I say sternly, feeling my chest tightening. “She is aching because she lost a friend, as a lot of us are. But she wouldn’t rather you died. You’re her best friend. She also isn’t herself because she’s so concerned about you. She’s never seen you this bad. As much as we miss Misha, we wouldn’t have wanted you to die instead. The twins deserve a father. I will forever be grateful to Misha for sacrificing himself to give them their father and give me my husband. He sacrificed himself for a reason, Finnick.”

He seems to hear me, but doesn’t say anything in response. He looks away from me, and I feel my heart breaking ever so slightly. I know that once he heals, he will be the same lively old Finnick again. But it hurts me to think he is so disinterested in everything now because of his injuries, and hardly pays attention to his children because of it.

That night, once I have fed and bathed and put both the twins and Finnick to sleep, I curl up and start to think about Katniss and I’s conversation. 

What is Coin planning? Why did she make so many decisions that confused the rest of us? Was it all part of an underlying, sinister plot? What is her motive? Why wasn’t I sent to fight?

Suddenly, I am standing back in my house in District Seven, and Daphne is once again there with me, though she sits this time in a rocking chair knitting what looks like baby clothes.

“You’re here, Morgan,” she says happily. “Sit down.”

I don’t immediately register it is a dream, but when I do, I carefully take a seat across from her in the rocking chair that seems to have been made to fit me exactly. 

“How have you been?” Daphne asks. 

“I have been… alright,” I tell her. “Who are those clothes for?”

“Some babies I met in the afterlife,” she says nonchalantly. “They don’t have clothes.”

“It’s kind of you to do that,” I tell her. “You were always so selfless and kind. Doing the most for others.”

“The greatest gift I could give to anyone was my help, no matter what. It’s a nice philosophy to live by.” She pauses, and looks up from her knitting. “I saw Misha. He misses you, and Annie.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah… unfortunately Finnick isn’t really appreciating his sacrifice a lot.”

“No, of course not. He’s in pain, he feels deprived of everything he had. He can’t do what he wants anymore. And I think he feels like a burden. Now you have to do extra to help him.”

“I don’t mind that. I try to stay optimistic, especially with everything.”

“Coin?” Daphne asks.

“Yes. I keep wondering about her.”

“Alma Coin is a complicated person. She lost her family and she changed. You recall, how you used to be known as the Murderess?”

“Yes. But not really anymore. They knew I was good with weapons and didn’t send me to fight. Now, I’m just a mother.”

“Interesting, to think the reverse is true of Coin. She used to be a mother. Now, she is soon to be the successor of Snow. She is cold, and calculating. She doesn’t care who dies. She was willing to dispose of your twins, then you, then Katniss and Peeta and Finnick.”

I mull over it and nod slowly. “Yeah… she didn’t seem to care who she lost as long as it fit with whatever her plan is.”

“Think about it, Morgan. What will she do when she takes over for Snow? Is she planning to abolish the Hunger Games? She hasn’t cared who lived or died. Vivi is gone and poor Prim has been struggling to recover. Misha is dead. So were others in the Star Squad. What other loss will she cause when she becomes the new President of Panem?”

I don’t have time to answer her because I am awoken by a knock at the door. Finnick stirs beside me, and I get up quickly to open it.

“Hello, Mrs. Odair,” a guard tells me before I’ve even rubbed my eyes. “There is a meeting in an hour with President Coin.”

I am reminded that today is the day that it all comes to an end. How I had forgotten, I have no idea. I go to wake Finnick, and begin to prepare the twins before taking them to stay with Gale and his family, who are more than happy to take care of them. Posy is fascinated with them, and even Rory and Vick like to play with them.

I’m not sure what to expect when Finnick and I arrive at the meeting, but the fact that I find a gathering of the remaining victors on a round table is suspicious.

I wheel Finnick in to sit next to Annie. On her other side is Johanna, followed by Beetee, then Peeta, and Haymitch. Katniss enters last. 

"What's this?” Katniss asks as she sits between Haymitch and I. 

"We're not sure," Haymitch answers. "It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors." 

"We're all that's left?" Katniss inquires. 

"The price of celebrity," says Beetee. "We were targeted from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol." 

Coin enters just as he finishes speaking. Katniss takes this opportunity to set the rose she took from Snow’s garden on the table. 

As usual, Coin gets right to the point, ignoring the rose. "I've asked you here to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this." 

"So, an alternative has been placed on the table,” Coin continues, eyeing all of us closely, one by one. “Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of five will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote.”

She walks around the table, her hands clasped together. "What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power." 

All eight of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna. 

"We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," Coin replies. 

"Are you joking?" Peeta asks. 

"No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security," Coin tells us. 

So she is going to pin it on us if we don’t approve murder. This was her plan all along. Gain our trust in different ways, dispose of those who might not want to agree, and make this decision easier. 

Katniss and I look at each other, and I’m reminded of what Daphne mentioned about loss. Somehow, I already know that Katniss has formulated a plan in these last few seconds, and I know exactly what she’s going to vote. 

"Was this Plutarch's idea?" asks Haymitch immediately. 

"It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes." 

"No!" bursts out Peeta. "I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!" 

"Why not?" Johanna retorts, her eyes wild. I know without asking her that she’s thinking of Blight. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes." 

"This is why we rebelled! Remember?" Peeta looks at the rest of us. "Annie?" 

"I vote no with Peeta," she says, her eyes sad. "So would Mags if she were here." 

"But she isn't, because Snow’s fog killed her," Johanna reminds her. 

"No," Beetee says firmly. "It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No." 

"We're down to Katniss, Haymitch, Finnick, and Morgan," Coin says. “Three votes for no, and one for yes. If all four of you vote yes, the motion is carried.”

I start to wonder if this was how it was like when the first Hunger Games was planned. Did they all vote in unison to begin it? Did Snow kill whoever disagreed to make the votes go in his favor? Will Coin secretly ruin our lives if the majority votes no? Even without releasing individual votes, those who want blood will torment us to no end if they know that it was us who stopped Coin from having a Hunger Games with the Capitol’s children. Will she go as far as to kill us off to do it anyway?

Katniss speaks first, and it sets everything in motion. “I vote yes, for Prim,” she says firmly.

Finnick takes my hand, squeezing it, and I can see that he isn’t willing to think up an answer on his own. He is tired of all of this. He will follow my lead.

“I’m with the Mockingjay,” Haymitch says, his eyes narrowed as if he too knows that Katniss has some sort of plan. 

“Three and three,” Coin states. “Morgan and Finnick, it’s up to you.”

I look over at my husband and squeeze his hand back. I do my best to convey the fact he should trust me with this, because I am trusting Katniss.

“I vote yes,” I state. 

Finnick doesn’t let go of my hand. “I vote yes as well.” 

"Excellent. That carries the vote," Coin says, looking pleased. "Now we really must take our places for the execution." 

She begins to walk past Katniss and I, and Katniss holds up the rose to her. "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?" 

Coin smiles. "Of course. And I'll make sure he knows about the Games." 

"Thank you," Katniss says. She looks at me and nods. 

The rest of us are beckoned out of the room, while Katniss remains inside to be prepared for her job as the executioner.

“Why did you vote yes?” Finnick asks me as I wheel him to the City Circle. I know Hazelle will stay with the twins while Gale attends. 

“I think Katniss has something planned. I had a dream too, with Daphne again. Trust me on this.”

“I trust you,” he whispers, looking up at me.

It’s not long after we’ve settled on our seats that the crowd roars, and Katniss steps out. I peer over as they march Snow out the door, and secure his hands behind a post. I can’t help but think about how unnecessary it is. He won’t try and escape, and even if he wanted to, there wouldn’t be anywhere for him to go. 

Finnick takes my hand once more as Katniss points the arrow at Snow’s heart, right where the white rose has been placed. “I love you,” he whispers.

It’s the first time he has said it to me since I saw him again. Somehow, I know that whatever Katniss decides to do, everything is going to be okay. 

“I love you too, Finnick,” I tell him, leaning on his shoulder and gazing down at Snow, who coughs and lets the blood dribble down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips, and I see him staring right at Katniss, as amused as he was when we spoke to him. 

Just as I think she’s about to shoot him, she points the arrow up, and next thing I know, President Coin has collapsed over the side of the balcony and plunges all the way to the ground, as dead as those who she let die and planned to kill.


	46. Epilogue

Slowly, things changed.

After a lot of medication and treatment, Prim made a full recovery and got to keep up with her medical training. 

Gale went to work for another District, and Johanna followed him, and they just recently announced they’re going to get married. 

Katniss and Peeta moved back to District Twelve and have been building up their relationship since. They have two beautiful children, and despite the fact Johanna teases them for waiting so long, I know that it was the best thing for Katniss after everything she went through.

Annie chose to remain in the Capitol with Beetee, where they help at a center for those struggling to recover mentally. Annie is the mother the patients need, and Beetee provides the technology that speeds up their recovery. 

Even Haymitch gradually stopped drinking, and Plutarch finally settled down. 

It took a long time for Finnick to get better. Between countless appointments for physical therapy, bucketloads of medication, and a lot of painful and anguished nights, he was able to walk just in time for us to walk our children to their very first day of school. 

Years later, I now sit on the shores of the beach in District Four, cradling my two year old daughter while she sleeps, and watching Finnick teach our youngest son to swim in the ocean. 

The twins were only children for a while, but eventually Finnick and I decided to have more, and when the twins were ten, Griffin Misha Odair was born. When he was three, Daphne Vivianna Odair was born, and we decided that we’d keep our family like this, at least for another long while. 

I often wonder what my life would be like if everything that transpired hadn’t done so. Would Finnick and I still be forced to work under Snow? Would Katniss and Peeta have never reconciled? Would Misha still be alive? 

Every single day, I think and I miss those who we lost. I miss my mother and father, who were just trying to provide for us. I miss Misha, who twice gave up everything because he cared so much about me. I miss Devan, Gretchen, and Daphne, who always gave me a laugh when I needed it. I miss Griffin, who never deserved to die. I miss Blight and Mags, who were the parental figures that Finnick and I needed after we lost our own. I miss Vivi, who helped me become a mother the first time. 

But as I watch the waves roll over the sand, feel the warmth from my daughter’s little body, and watch Finnick and my children laugh and splash each other, I am filled with an overwhelming, grateful feeling at the fact that I was surrounded by so many people who were loving, and gave their all to end the war so that I could be here, with my husband and four children, enjoying the same beach I never thought I’d live to see. 

I am so thankful that my children will never have to fight for their lives and watch those they love die in such brutal ways.

I was once a Murderess who thought her life would never be more than pain. 

Now I am not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes The Murderess.
> 
> I definitely didn’t expect to get so involved in my first Hunger Games fic. Initially, the story was going to be much shorter. When I started writing it back in… probably October of 2019, I was not expecting it to take off the way it did.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for all your sweet comments throughout and your support! Please keep a lookout for my other upcoming stories, and take care during this difficult time!
> 
> -Sprinting Fox


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